


invisible string

by Queenie_004



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Lost Love, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Relationship Status: It's Complicated, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_004/pseuds/Queenie_004
Summary: A decade after a traumatic college break-up, Lara Jean and Peter find themselves at the same professional event where over the course of a week they try to sort out their past and carefully step around what's in their present.
Relationships: Peter Kavinsky/Lara Jean Song-Covey
Comments: 194
Kudos: 157





	1. once in twenty lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mel_200618](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_200618/gifts).



> I have spent most of the last few months listening to Taylor Swift's "folklore" on repeat and if you have too, then you will see the influences of it throughout this story. There's a lot more angst than what I normally write for this pairing but I hope you will hold on tight through that to see the resolution. I promise not to break your heart (too much)😉 
> 
> It also features a style I haven't done in this fandom before which is to write entirely in first person. There are alternating POVs in each chapter - and often it's LJ and PK's takes on the same moments. It was a fun challenge to see if I could "hear" their voices as separate and unique and I'm excited about how it came out. I think it opened up my imagination in some new ways.
> 
> Deep gratitude to Mel_200618 who supplied the core idea and helped me fill in many of the details and has been a faithful cheerleader through the week of late night hours I spent writing it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a crowded room, a bar, a surprise reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** cardigan / taylor swift / folklore 2020

_and isn’t it just so pretty to think  
all along there was some  
invisible string  
tying you to me?_

* * *

**sunday night, mid-april**

_Peter_

I’m waiting at the bar when it happens: a woman comes up next to me and orders a martini, “lemon twist, no olives” she says, and I look over at the sound of her voice. Her head is down – black hair sleekly parted and pulled back to a flawless knot at the base of her neck. She’s looking away and one of the bartenders puts my beer in front of me and I take a long swig before looking back at her. There is no way it is Lara Jean Covey – no reason why she’d be at a law conference in Santa Barbara yet…she pulls out a phone and swipes at a lock screen that looks suspiciously like a trio of Korean American sisters and checks her messages.

I see her martini coming and the room is packed on the first night so I take another sip then a deep breath and turn to her, “Hi,” I start and she looks up at me and our eyes meet and it is her and that’s it – that’s all I can get out of my mouth.

“Peter Kavinsky” she says, her voice even and not sounding surprised at seeing me, “hello there.” She coolly tips her glass to her lips and drinks and I try to recover from my shock.

“Are you a lawyer?” I say and I know I sound incredulous but honestly, the last thing I ever imagined Lara Jean to be was a lawyer, she wanted to be a writer. “Or are you just really impressed by the cocktails served by the annual Attorneys of America Conference?”

She squares her shoulders that are in a fitted black blazer that hugs her waist in a way that is hard to ignore, “I’m a lawyer. Like you.” I nod, still struggling to process all this, “good to see you, Peter. Enjoy the conference.” Then she turns and slips into the sea of dark power suits.

_Lara Jean_

It took every ounce of discipline to not freak out when finding myself standing next to my ex-boyfriend at the bar in the Four Seasons Biltmore ballroom on the first night of the conference.

I knew Peter was an attorney. It had been his dream since high school. When we broke up our junior year of college, he was prepping for the LSAT and obsessively rotating his top law school preferences. On a Christmas break when I was in law school, I ran into his mother at the grocery store back home and she proudly told me he was a second year at Columbia. I could have said I was 2L at Harvard, but just said to wish him luck and then hid from her in the cereal aisle until I hoped she had left.

And the odds we’d run into one another at one of these things was always in the back of my mind – just a bit. I wasn’t sure what he practiced but he was in a gorgeous navy suit and the fees to come to these things are so steep it’s only worth it if your firm is footing the bill, so my guess is he’s a litigator or maybe even criminal defense. If I hadn’t been so emotionally exhausted on the flight here, I would have read through all the registration materials and reviewed the participant lists, something I normally do as conference prep so I can line up some networking opportunities. Then I would have been prepared instead of wandering right up next to him and instead of asking him what he did, where he worked, how he was – you know, a _normal human adult conversation_ , I acted as if he was a random guy I shared the elevator with and bolted to hide in the ladies room – basically the cereal aisle all over again.

_Peter_

I try to make my way out of the ballroom to the lobby where registration was set up. I need to get my hands on the attendance roster and see where she works and what her specialty is. I never look at all the stuff they send you when you sign-up for these conferences but clearly if I had, I could have been better prepared for what just happened. Then again, running into Lara Jean Covey again has been something I’ve longed for and dreaded in equal measures for years.

There is no one at the table anymore but there are materials out and a mounted iPad that I swipe through to find the info I need. I keep checking over my shoulder to see if she’s going to appear again, out of nowhere when I haven’t seen her in nearly ten years, but there’s no sign of her.

_LJ Covey – Davis/Miller Entertainment Partners LLP (New York City)_

I click the link and I’ll be damned – she’s an entertainment lawyer. I start to read her bio and see she was top of her class at Harvard Law, but behind me a door opens and I can hear the speeches are starting and honestly, I’d rather hear her tell me about herself then read it off a website. I’d like the chance to talk to her even if it’s just a casual catch up and not the overdue heart-to-heart we never got to have. So, I’m going to read all the conference info when I get back to my room and plan out a way to find her again that is not at all like some creepy stalker ex-boyfriend even though that is exactly what it feels like I am.


	2. our coming of age has come and gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a breakfast, a workout, a reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** peace / taylor swift / folklore 2020

**monday morning**

_Lara Jean_

I find a nice patio spot overlooking the Pacific Ocean to eat my breakfast and go over my plan for the day. There’s the keynote in an hour and then two panels I’m registered for before lunch. I’m going to spend lunch in my room returning client emails and a mini conference call with my office, and then a workshop, two breakouts and I can fit in the gym and another shower before dinner and drinks with some friends from Harvard. The entire goal of this trip and this conference is to keep busy – to keep focused on work and myself and not any of the drama of my life the last several months.

On the beach below people have gathered and kids are shrieking and pointing to the water and I see that they are all watching dolphins who are arcing out of the water and gracefully splashing back down into it. I push my sunglasses on top of my head and watch them – it’s truly breathtaking and suddenly spending a day inside meeting rooms talking about law seems like an incredible waste of time.

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice says and here is Peter, sauntering over in another expensive suit – this one a cozy grey, with a mug of coffee in one hand, his other gesturing at the chair across from me. “And, if it is, I won’t be offended, but I will be disappointed.” He gives me a grin, oh boy, _that grin_. I would be lying if I said I didn’t still think about that grin on that face and how it used to make me feel.

“It’s free, but the view isn’t as good,” I point to the water and he looks over and gasps.

“Oh shit! Is that real?”

I can’t help but laugh, “no, they are animatronic dolphins the hotel turns on to calm down all the high intensity lawyers.”

He narrows his eyes at me with a smile at the corner of his lips, “sassy always did look good on you, Covey.”

I feel a blush coming so I turn back to look at the dolphins as they move deeper into the ocean. I decide to act like an adult this morning, so I sip my coffee and nod motion him to the chair, “how are you, Peter?”

He sits and nods his head, “I think I’m over my shock at seeing you here, finding out you’re a lawyer and that you live in New York City, home of my Alma Mater, the incomparable Columbia Law School.”

I narrow my eyes at him, “if this is going to turn into a Harvard Law vs. Columbia Law pissing match, I’m not interested. I’ve already had this conversation twice since getting here less than 24-hours ago.”

“Nope, no pissing match here” he sips his coffee, “since Columbia is far superior.” I can’t help but roll my eyes and he laughs, but before I can say anything he adds, “now that we’ve got that _fact_ out of the way,” there’s that damn grin again, “I actually came to see if we could get a drink later, catch up with each other a bit. It feels way overdue.”

_Peter_

She hesitates and I can see she’s doing that bite thing she does inside her cheek when she’s anxious. I used to rub my thumb over her jaw when she’d do it, remind her to relax and not to stress. The muscle memory comes over me and I grip my hand on my thigh to keep from reaching over and smoothing her nerves away right now.

“I’m actually really booked” she starts, “the whole week. I packed a lot in and I’m also on a few deadlines so I’m trying to fit in work around the sessions and getting to the gym and enough sleep.”

“OK then, how about I join you for a workout? I always eat way too many complimentary meals at these things and slack off on the gym. It would be good to stay on track.”

I wait for the counter – it’s Lara Jean after all and she’s likely not super eager to spend time with me – and she’s a lawyer so we think everything is a negotiation. But to my surprise, she doesn’t say no and doesn’t offer an alternative to my offer.

“I was going to go at 4PM.”

“OK” I nod.

“And I have a very specific routine, it’s not like, social hour.”

“Fine.”

She squints at me, “we never exercised together when we were dating, this seems like a really weird thing to be doing together now.”

“That was probably because you never did any exercise.”

She gasps at me, “that is not true, I did plenty of exercise!”

“If you call reading on the bleachers during my lacrosse games and occasionally yelling out _yay, go Peter!_ Then sure, you were a regular fitness freak.”

She raises a perfectly contoured eyebrow and declares “Just for that I’m going to make you sorry you came up with this idea.”

I’m not going to lie. It was kind of hot how she said it.

* * *

**monday afternoon**

_Peter_

I leave a session early so I can get to our gym date on time. And obviously it’s not a _date_ , but it may be the only chance she allows me to talk to her so I’m not going to fuck it up and show up late.

When I get there, she’s shoving her phone into her bag and her brow is furrowed. “Hey, everything OK?” I ask and she looks startled and nods and I watch how she fixes her face to pretend I didn’t just catch her looking upset.

“You’re right on time” she glances at the clock on the wall.

“Well, you know – when you start having billable hours you get real timely with everything” I grin and she gives me a half smile.

“Right, you ready?” She’s fixing her ponytail and I say I am and then she unzips her jacket from one of those high end athletic lines and I realize I am not ready in the least because Lara Jean Covey’s body is _tight_. I mean, she was cute and curvy when we were younger, but now she is all sleek legs and sculpted arms with an ass that is downright dangerous and I swallow hard and follow her to the treadmills and remind myself I can in no way be having any sort of thoughts about her body. Like, _none_.

This was quite possibly a mistake asking to join her in all her form fitting and incredibly sexy workout wear.

_Lara Jean_

Peter is laying on the mat next to me groaning loudly. I continue stretching my shoulders then reach for my water bottle. “You were captain of the lacrosse team” I say between drinks, “this should have been a walk in the park for you.”

He groans again, and raises an arm to point at me, “I was 18 and I mostly swim now and you are a beast, Covey. OW!” His arm drops heavily back to the mat, “it hurts to even lift my arm! I think maybe I hate you.”

I look over at him and his hair which has been sort of tamed when he’s all suited up is now sweaty and curly and god how I used to love playing with his curls – soft and silky in my fingers, the happy sighs he’d make when I’d lightly glide my nails over his scalp, his head in my lap, _don’t ever stop_ he’d murmur with a dazed smile on his face. And each time I promised I never would. I wonder what he’d say if I reached over and did it right now, but I shove the thought away.

“Hey” he props himself up on his elbows, “each rep when I asked you anything about your life you said you’d tell me when we were done. So now that we’re done…we are done, right?” his eyes look slightly panicked and I smile and nod, “oh thank god, now will you give me some answers?”

I stand up and look out the window, “I need to get back and shower before I meet people for dinner, walk back with me and we can catch up.”

He agrees and we grab our stuff and head through the lush garden paths from the gym towards the main house of the hotel.

I fill him in on what I feel are pretty mundane details of my life – where I lived Cambridge during law school (he scoffs again at Harvard, typical insecure Columbia grad); when I moved to New York (almost a month to the day that he moved from New York to Boston, we literally traded places); how I got into entertainment law (to eventually have my own boutique firm for women authors); and a quick catch up on my family. There’s one specific thing about my personal life he doesn’t ask, and I am grateful because I don’t want to talk about it.

We’re almost to the hotel when a guy in running gear spots Peter and comes over to greet him. Peter introduces me by my firm and specialty which seems formal, but I guess it’s less professional to announce I’m his ex-girlfriend so I shake the guy’s hand and correct my name, “LJ Covey” and I can see Peter giving me a strange look but the guy – Derek Something from DC, goes back to peppering Peter with questions and I’m about to excuse myself when Derek says, “so the big day, huh! It’s coming up this summer, right?”

“It’s uh…yeah, June” Peter stammers and I swing my gaze to him, but he doesn’t meet it and I feel myself tense up.

“Nice, nice! You nervous? Nah, you’re not nervous. Rebecca is great, she’s the best. We can’t wait to celebrate with you both!” Derek looks to me, “do you know Rebecca?” and I shake my head.

“I…haven’t had the opportunity” I say evenly and I can see Peter swallow hard.

“Lara Je…LJ” Peter corrects, “has to get to a dinner and I’ve got some emails to respond to.”

Derek chuckles, “alright man, hey, hit me up this week, let’s get a beer.”

Peter nods and Derek jogs off and we stand there silently for a moment and finally I say, “who is Rebecca?” even though I know the answer.

“Rebecca” he clears his throat, “is my fiancée.”

* * *

**monday night**

_Peter_

It must be a special talent that only I possess to fuck things up with Lara Jean Covey. I was going to tell her about Rebecca and that I was engaged. I just…I didn’t and any excuses for why I didn’t are all fucking pathetic when I replay them now in my head so let’s just call it what it was: I was a coward.

And it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve not been honest with her. I was the architect of our destruction in college. I was the one who pulled away and grew distant. It was me that said I wanted something else – and not even anyone else but I let her believe that was maybe what it was – another girl. It felt simpler to just be the bad guy and let her think I was an asshole then to step up and admit that I was scared of losing her and jealous of the life she made at her own school, how happy she seemed to be without me there. I actually hated that she was doing so well because I needed her so much, wanted her with me so badly and that made me feel like a truly shitty person and boyfriend.

And all that? She doesn’t know any of it. For all I know, she still thinks I wanted to sleep with other girls, so I dumped her over it. And that’s what I was hoping I could finally get the chance to tell her after I saw her last night. Which, god I’m _such_ an asshole – she’s here to be a professional at a conference, not hear her ex rattle off more than a decade’s worth of excuses.

My phone buzzes and I lift it to look and it’s Rebecca sending me photos of some of the flower arrangements for her bridesmaids. I give enthusiastic compliments and ask how her day was and she replies if we can FaceTime and because I am an asshole, I lie to the woman I’m marrying in three months and say I’m about to go to a dinner. What I really do is mute my phone and crack open the mini bar.


	3. and if you never bleed you're never gonna grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a pair of heels, a pitcher of margaritas, a revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** the 1/ taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**tuesday morning**

_Lara Jean_

I’m invited to fill in at a contracts panel by a one of the senior partners from our LA office and it’s the perfect distraction to get over my anger at Peter, anger that I’m not comfortable examining because he is my ex-boyfriend who I haven’t seen in ten years and his engagement should mean nothing to me except as a piece of gossip.

And, it doesn’t mean anything to me really but it’s the fact he didn’t mention it at all which just hits me wrong, or if I’m being honest, it hits me the way his insinuations about wanting to date other people did when he dumped me. In only two days he’s stirred up things that were better left in the past, things that make me feel as raw and wounded as I felt when we ended, and I was a broken 20-year-old girl. But those feelings are already brimming right at the surface because of the most recent way I’ve been tossed away by another man I loved.

I order breakfast from room service so there’s no opportunity for Peter to crash my morning again and I focus on my presentation. Losing myself in my work feels good, it’s what I needed and why I’m here in the first place. I pick out my favorite dress and a vintage shrug and pair them with heels that give me height and confidence. I’m going to look great and be in my element talking about the law I practice and get on with this week and forget boy drama.

_Peter_

I wake up early and FaceTime with Rebecca before I get out of bed. I tell her I ran into Lara Jean who she knows my history with, and she asks a few questions but overall doesn’t seem too concerned that she’s here and that we hung out. I want to assure her that we’re not going to spend any more time together, but she really doesn’t seem overly concerned about it, she’s far more focused on wedding planning. So, I move the conversation along and afterwards I go down to the pool and dive in to do my laps – forgetting that Lara Jean busted my ass with her workout yesterday and my shoulders are not at all thrilled to be backstroking.

At breakfast I map out my day and talk with some people I only ever see at these conferences and while I still feel like I should at least see Lara Jean to apologize for not telling her about Rebecca, I decide that rehashing our past should not happen and we’ll just keep our distance for the rest of the week.

I run into Derek again and ask if he’s free for that beer later and he’s in and then says, “are you going to the contracts panel? Your friend is in it.”

“What panel?” I ask and he points at the interactive screen behind him.

“DJ…BJ…the woman you introduced me to yesterday.”

LJ.

I pass him and go to the screen and swipe through and see that in 15 minutes she is going to be part of a discussion that happens to involve Intellectual Property, which is what I do. “Yeah,” I turn back to Derek, “I’m going to that.”

* * *

**tuesday afternoon**

_Peter_

Fuck Lara Jean is _smart_. I mean, I always knew that but some part of me has been unsure how she ended up practicing law but once I hear her speak about it – with such poise and authority it seems crazy to ever question why she chose the path she did.

I sit in the back because I don’t want to distract her or seem like once again, stalker ex-boyfriend guy. But afterwards when people are standing around chatting about the program and commenting about her expertise, I can’t help but feel a completely undeserved sense of pride in her. Glancing back at the stage before I head out, I see her surrounded by people wanting to meet her, talk to her and she notices me and to my surprise, gives me a small wave which I return.

I’m in the lobby texting my boss when I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to find Lara Jean – she’s crazy tall wearing heels and I’m not used to seeing her up so high and a chuckle escapes me. I gesture between our eyes, “seeing you near my eye level is throwing me a curve ball.”

She smiles at me and I feel my shoulders loosen a little. “These are my power heels” she kicks out her ankle and I see exactly how high they are, “being tall makes me feel powerful.”

I nod, “you don’t need the heels Covey, you were plenty powerful up there. You ruled that whole panel, left them in the dust.”

“Don’t let Mitchell hear you say that” she tips her head to one of the men on the panel with her, “he’s a partner at our LA office, you know the partners want you to shine, but just not _too_ much.”

I nod because I know that quite well. “Congratulations” I say, “I have zero right to feel this or even say it, but I was really proud of you up there. I thought I knew IP well, but after that, you’re making me re-think my entire career path.” She blushes at that and I want to keep this goodwill going by making my apology, “look, about Rebecca…”

She holds up a hand, “would you like to have dinner with me? I think there’s some things we should talk about. I mean, if that’s OK,” she pauses, “with your fiancée.”

_Lara Jean_

The panel went great, I felt good. People wanted to connect with me after and Mitchell was pleased with my thorough prep and attention to detail on such short notice. And I’m not going to lie, I looked fantastic. Every woman needs a Little Black Dress for fun, and a LBD for work that can be both flattering and professional and still make you feel a little bit sexy.

And feeling all that when I spotted Peter heading out and realizing he’d seen me perform at my highest level, it just enhanced the excitement I was feeling and I don’t know – I just decided right then that I didn’t want there to be tension between us the rest of our time here, and that I wanted to learn more about who he was now.

And I needed to confess that he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about their personal life.

* * *

**tuesday night**

_Peter_

“Do you want get out of here?” she said when we met for dinner in front of the hotel. “There’s too many lawyers in this place.” She gave me a conspiratorial smile and I looked around and laughed.

“Way too many lawyers. What did you have in mind?”

She calls up a car and gives the driver an address. “Do you still love a platter of tacos and a pitcher of margaritas?” she asks as she leans back next to me in the backseat.

The place ends up being a kind of hole in the wall with the best Mexican food I’ve ever had, and the evening starts out just exchanging our favorite places to eat in Boston and New York. It’s relaxed and our moods are decidedly less guarded then they’ve felt the past few days.

“I still can’t get over that we basically traded cities and never even knew it until now” I say as I scoop guacamole onto a chip. “You’d think some mutual someone in our lives would have mentioned it at some point in all this time.”

She tilts her head to the side and in the flicker of the candlelight momentarily looks like a teenager again, and it is both startling and comforting. “Well, you were pretty much persona non grata” her eyes meet mine, “so no one dared mention you to me.”

I nod slowly, “that seems fair. Being that I was an asshole.”

“You were an asshole!” she laughs, “I’m glad you said it first.”

“Admit it Covey, it was on the tip of your tongue” I tease.

She waves her hand, “tell me about Rebecca.”

I pause and take a gulp of beer, “she’s tenure track at Wellesley in International Relations. Her mother was a client and kept saying that after we were done working together, she wanted to introduce me to her daughter. And…she did.”

Lara Jean nods, “how long have you been together?”

“About a year.”

“Wow. When did you propose?”

“Six months ago.”

“Wow.” She says again, “wait, when is your wedding?”

“June” I can see her adding it up in her head.

“It’s April. That’s three months…nine months…is she pregnant?!” Her eyes go wide and I nod no quickly, too quickly maybe.

“Not a shotgun wedding, I swear.”

“Just a whirlwind romance” she muses as she swirls her drink, “can I see her? You must have pictures on your phone?” She holds her hand out and I kind of don’t want to show her pictures of Rebecca, of us together – it feels like crossing some sort of line although I can’t figure out if it’s a Rebecca line or a Lara Jean one.

I slip my phone out and find some casual photos – when we went biking in the Berkshires in the fall, at a birthday dinner for her best friend both of us buzzed on champagne. Lara Jean takes the phone out of my hand and studies the photos, then starts swiping.

“Hey” I curl my fingers to show I want it back, “no scrolling!”

“What are you afraid I’ll find?” she sasses as she looks up at me, eyes glinting, “something for Rebecca’s eyes only?”

“You think I’d actually keep dick pics?” I say in a low voice.

“Oh!” she raises an eyebrow, “so you’re admitting you take them, you just don’t keep them.”

I groan, “this is why people hate lawyers, Covey.”

“The prosecution rests” she grins and hands me back my phone. “She’s very pretty. You guys look happy. Congratulations, Peter.”

“Yeah, well…she’s great – she’s funny and warm and thoughtful. Thanks, that means a lot – from you of all people. And I’m sorry – truly sorry that I delayed in telling you I was engaged. That you had to hear it from someone else it wasn’t fair to you or to her and I sincerely apologize.”

The waiter arrives and puts down hot platters and asks about another pitcher and Lara Jean nods even though she’s still working on her first glass.

“Peter,” she starts and then pauses again when the waiter returns with another round, thanking him in Spanish. “In the interest of full disclosure there is something I have not told you either and when you hear it, I think any guilt you feel about not sharing that you were engaged is going to evaporate.”

_Lara Jean_

“You’re _married?_ ” He says it for the third time, his face still looking as stunned as it did when the words first left my mouth.

“I’m separated” I state for the second time.

“That’s still married” Peter says, “where’s your ring?” he glances at my hand.

“I don’t wear a ring because I’m in the process of getting divorced. Peter, are you OK?”

He answers by taking a big gulp of margarita then squints at me, “smart to line up the second pitcher before the first with that news.”

“Do you remember when you came to the gym and I was reading a text?” He nods and I continue, “that was my husband, asking for more money that I’m not going to give him.”

Peter’s eyes finally focus on me, “what’s his name?”

“Holden” I sigh, “Holden McGuire.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Four years, together for almost eight. We met when I was settling in Cambridge for law school. He was a bartender at a place called The Den, do you know it?” he shakes his head and I continue, “and he was the first guy I had real feelings for since…” I look at him, “since you and I fell for him and then we moved to New York when I got my job and he decided he wanted to be an actor.”

“He’s an actor?” Peter leans forward, “you? You are married to an _actor?_ ”

“I’m married to a struggling actor. Thankfully not for much longer.”

He’s quiet and I debate how much more to say until finally he says, “can I ask what happened?”

“He decided he liked the money I made and the 22-year-old girls who were impressed by his looks and his acting dreams and he left me but thinks he deserves alimony.”

There’s an audible gasp from Peter’s side of the table and he leans so far forward I push the candle out of the way. “This fucker left you? Cheated on you??”

His anger is palpable, and I reach out and grip his arm, “Peter, calm down. It’s my crap to deal with, not yours.”

The vein in his forehead is pulsing, his tell when he’s truly pissed off and he sits back in his seat, “what a piece of shit.”

His phone buzzes and he ignores it and when the check comes he refuses to let me pay for anything. When his phone buzzes again he looks at it and curses under his breath. “It’s Derek, we’re supposed to get a beer. I’m gonna cancel.”

“Why?” I look at him, “I think we’ve cleared the air here. I have work to do before bed anyway.” I stand up and he follows me out of the restaurant where he puts his hand on my arm.

“Covey” there’s a plea in his voice that unnerves me, “I’m so sorry. I’m so _so_ fucking sorry.”

I assume he’s giving me his sympathy for what Holden did to me, it feels like maybe he’s also apologizing for his own happiness – for being in love and about to marry Rebecca.

“It’s OK Peter, it’s just a thing I have to get through – and you have so much to be happy about, please enjoy this – appreciate what you have. It’s a happy time in your life – right before you get married.”


	4. but i can see us lost in the memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a loaded touch, an invitation, a road trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** august / taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**wednesday dawn**

_Peter_

I couldn’t lose Derek so we went out and because I couldn’t quite process what just happened with Lara Jean, I did what I used to do when I was feeling confusion and sadness about her – I drank myself stupid.

Now with the sun starting to come up on another bright and shiny Santa Barbara day, I have the bitter taste of late night shots on my tongue and a throbbing head that I pull a pillow over and try to smother the light away.

When I stumbled into my room only a few hours ago my phone was dead, so I threw open my laptop and looked up Holden McGuire. There were a lot of images of him and I could see why Lara Jean would have been attracted to him, the guy was good-looking, and he knew how to take a great picture. I scrolled until I found his acting credits roles like “Party Guy #1”, “Frat Boy” and a few commercials, he’d also done some off-Broadway, but he was no success.

I trawled through his social media and felt a weird wave of disappointment that I didn’t find anything truly evil – some reason to hate him more than I already did. Even barely sober I knew this was completely stupid – she straight out told me he liked living off her money and screwing around on her, I didn’t need some evidence of a racist tweet or an Instagram thirst trap to prove he was an asshole.

And there it is. Right? _There it fucking is_. It’s why I’m so furious at this guy, it’s why I apologized to her after we left the restaurant. Because Holden McGuire and me, we’re the same. We fucked her over the same. We betrayed her trust, threw away her love and broke her heart the same way.

I hated him but I hated myself too. I have ever since I forced her to give up on me and then regretted it for every day after. And seeing her now after all this time just reopened what was broken in me when I lost her, what I never actually ever fucking fixed.

_Lara Jean_

Peter’s reaction was intense – not at all what I expected. I thought he’d be upset that I didn’t tell him, or sad for me because I’m 30 years old and getting a divorce from a greedy disaster of a husband. But it was almost as if it had happened to him and I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. I don’t quite understand it.

Since I’m already awake and I don’t want to ponder what was going through Peter’s head, I grab my phone and do a little online stalking of Rebecca Hemmings and Peter Kavinsky, but mostly Rebecca. She’s only slightly elusive – there’s a basic engagement announcement and grainy photo, an impressive biography on her faculty page at Wellesley and I fall down a rabbit hole of one of her friends on Insta and end up at a picture of her and Peter together on a beach: she’s blonde and statuesque, confidently pretty in that sporty way. They look good together everything about them a compliment to one another – her fairness to his dark curls, their lean bodies and gleaming smiles and Peter looks excited and I push down a pang that says _they’ll have such beautiful babies_ which is crazy because I don’t even know if I want kids so why should I care who Peter Kavinsky makes them with?!

Seeing Peter again has made me realize that my bitterness towards him – the hurt I carried for so long about how he treated me and the way our relationship ended, it has mellowed with age and been replaced with the white hot anger I have at Holden. It’s almost as if I can’t maintain my fury at both, so Peter is off the hook and Holden has a target on his chest. I don’t know if I could explain that to Peter or if I even should. He’s moved on in his life, whatever I meant to him in high school and for part of college is long gone. And that’s how it should be, each of us with new loves in our lives embarking on new chapters.

It’s just that my chapter has not gone the way I hoped it would. My sisters have pointed out (far too often for my taste) that I cloistered myself after Peter – I didn’t hook-up with randoms, I barely dated guys to figure out what I wanted, I just threw myself into finishing college and then law school and Holden slipped in when I had my defenses down and I thought my heart was healed but it wasn’t, not really – he just made me forget for a while just how broken it really was. Then he shattered it so completely I sometimes lay awake at night wondering if I have it in me to fall in love again or to trust someone one more time.

I once had a breakthrough with my therapist in which she pushed me to explain how I pivoted from wanting to be a writer – something creative full of the ability to explore and experiment, to a lawyer with its rules and rigid processes. It took some pushing, but two things came pouring out of me: the first was that studying law and being a lawyer would fill my head, take over my life and my free time with studying, memorizing, practicing law. The other was that the law was steady, dependable, there were not many (or any) surprises and distinct guidelines for every facet of it. What I craved was safety, clarity and no room for anything abstract.

I would only ever admit to myself that a sliver of the decision to change course was because Peter was going to be a lawyer and during our relationship I grew curious about law as I quizzed him on it for tests or read over papers he asked for my input on. He was so genuinely excited about becoming a lawyer and his enthusiasm pulled me in the same direction. In fact, I was already poised to switch to pre-law just before we fell apart and I never got to tell him he was the one who influenced me to take this path.

* * *

**wednesday morning**

_Lara Jean_

There’s knocking on my door and I pull on a robe as I leave the bathroom, tightening the belt as I go to answer it.

“Hey, Covey – mornin’” Peter drawls at me, disposable cup of coffee in his hands, mussed hair and stubble. He’s leaning against the door frame in olive cargo shorts and a white long-sleeved T and aviator sunglasses on. “Let’s get some pancakes.”

I peer at him, “are you hungover?” and he nods slowly. “Aren’t you going to the conference today?” He shakes his head just as slow.

“Can I come in?” his voice is scratchy, and I move away to let him in and close the door.

“What happened to you after I left? Did you and that Derek guy tie one on?”

Peter grins at me and drops on to the end of my bed. “You and your funny sayings” he scratches through his hair, “the only other person I’ve ever heard use _tie one on_ is my grandmother.”

I shrug, “what do you call it then?”

“Shitfaced” he laughs and it’s followed by a wince, and I move towards him and reach my hands to his head then freeze midair. He looks up at me and slides his sunglasses off so I can see his eyes. “Were you gonna do that thing?” he murmurs.

My throat feels dry, but I manage to say, “do you want me to?” and he utters the softest _yeah_ and closes his eyes. I rest my thumbs on his forehead and lay my fingers on top of his head and I gently stroke over his eyebrows, smoothing my pads up into his hairline where my fingertips press lightly into the top of his head. It was something I used to do when he was recovering from drinking, and he always swore it made him feel so much better.

Outside the room there’s the hum of voices in the hall and beyond my window seagulls are screeching at each other. But in here it’s silent except for our breathing and this feels like a precarious line we are pushing, and my rational brain tells me to take my hands off him and step away because he’s taken but a completely irrational and selfish part keeps soothing away his pain, losing myself in the familiar softness of his thick hair and the comfort I used to experience when I was nurturing him.

He makes a little groan and I squeeze my eyes shut because it stabs such a flare of desire through me. I want him to grab my hips to pull me closer between his legs, tug open my robe and kiss my bare stomach, his stubble scraping into my skin. I want his hands to fan out along my waist and up to tease over my breasts before rising to my shoulders to push the robe off me until I am standing, exposed in front of him. I want him to guide me down on to the bed and lay me out like a feast that he can’t wait to devour. I want to see in his eyes how eager he is to please me, taste me, give me anything I ask for and know instinctively when to tease me and when to satisfy me.

I am so lost in this fantasy that when he does put his hands on my hips – his touch tentative, my libido and my sensibilities come crashing together and as much as I want something to happen, I know nothing can happen. I still my hands and step away and his eyes when he looks up at me make me instantly regret that decision because he looks like he wants the same thing I do.

_Peter_

“We can’t” she says quietly, and I nod, grateful she is the smart one because I was about to make a whole series of bad decisions. Her touch felt so incredible and soothing and it turned me on that she still knew my body so well – all the pressure points that I always responded to and when to change the tempo of her touch to lull me into comfort.

I clear my throat, “thanks. I do feel a lot better.” She gives me a soft half smile and I mentally shake off the heightened sexual tension between us and try to sound nonchalant, “about those pancakes – don’t you want to get away from this fancy little bubble for a while? Eat bad food and see some of California that is not lush and perfectly manicured?”

She wrinkles her nose and it always killed me when she did that. “Are you asking me to play hooky with you?”

I stand up and throw my sunglasses on top of my head, “I am. I think you deserve it. You’ve been presenting and networking and working…” _your pretty little ass off_ is what runs through my head, but I don’t say it, “come on, we don’t have to do the whole day, just a few hours. We can be back after lunch.”

“Where would we go?”

I hold my palms up, “who knows? The desert? Get on a boat? Go for a drive?”

“We don’t have cars.”

I groan, “details, Covey! I’ll figure them out. Go get dressed in something comfy, not your expensive, tailored lawyer wear.”

She wants to, I can tell she knows she should decline but she is into the idea. “I didn’t pack leisure clothes, I wasn’t planning on skipping out on a conference my firm is paying for me to be at.”

“You have clothes to work out in!” I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her towards the closet, “wear some of those, c’mon girl, I need a stack of pancakes drowning in fake syrup and you’re holding up the works here.”

She giggles and the air feels less fraught now, we’re back on an even keel and she goes towards the closet, “you have to wait outside, I’m not changing with you in my room.” I give her a salute and head to the door, “and I want to be back by 2PM, I’m only granting you a half day of hooky!” she calls after me.

* * *

**wednesday afternoon**

_Peter:_

Finding cheap, greasy diner food in Santa Barbara is harder that I thought. Everything here is so fucking fancy and Lara Jean, sensing I’m tipping over from hungry to cranky, points us to a donut place – be it a high-end donut “bar” with ridiculous artisanal donuts that cost way too much for a piece of deep fried dough. But Lara Jean still has a baker inside her and she’s pretty excited about the options, so I keep my teasing to a minimum and they do taste really good even though they are ridiculous.

We head to a car rental lot and at the counter Lara Jean asks for a boring car and I shake my head in disappointment.

“What?” She looks up at me, “why are you sighing so dramatically?”

“A sedan?” I say, “C’mon, Covey. Let’s live it up a little. We’re in California, the weather is gorgeous, we need to drive with a top down, wind in our hair.”

She laughs, “you want to rent a convertible?”

“Yes!”

She turns back to the guy at the counter and says, “the sedan is fine.”

“Woah, did you hear me?” I cry, “look, how much do you make?”

“ _What?”_ she looks at me with eyes wide, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“Write it down” I push a piece of paper and grab a pen from a jar and hand it to her.

“Peter, you’ve lost your mind. I’m not telling you my salary!”

“Fine, here’s mine” I scribble the number on the paper and hand it to her and she looks at it then back to me.

“That’s great, congratulations, again, what does this have to do with…” she gestures to the office we’re standing in.

“Oh, you can’t afford to rent a luxury convertible for a day, I get it. Don’t be embarrassed Lara Jean, it’s cool.” I tease and she groans and drops her head back.

“Why did I agree to come with you again?” but she picks up the pen and writes then folds the paper and presses it into my chest. “I can afford it.”

I open it up and my eyes go wide, “holy _shit_! Rent it for the rest of the week! Damn, you are making me re-think my career choices again, IP in Boston doesn’t pay like _this_.”

She cocks an eyebrow at me, “it’s not IP and it’s not Boston. It’s that second-rate Columbia degree.”

“OUCH” I start laughing, “just for that…” I turn to the guy waiting for us to make up our minds, “we’ll take the most expensive convertible with all the insurance for 24-hours and Lil Miss Harvard here is paying.”

She nods her head at him, “that’s fine, but I’m driving.”

“Oh” I groan, “oh, shit.”

_Lara Jean_

“So where are we going?” I look over at Peter in the passenger seat and he is practically drooling at the interior of the Mercedes we have for the day. “I don’t remember you being a big car obsessive.”

“I’m not” he mumbles as he moves his fingers over the leather interior, “but this is not a car, it’s a motherfucking experience!” His expression when he looks at me is so full of childish joy that I can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

“So, where are we going?” I repeat.

“LA” he says as he plays with the seat warmers, “pretend we’re famous.”

“Boring.” I sigh, “I go there for work a lot and it’s not that great. Let’s go somewhere pretty.”

“Palm Springs” now he’s playing with the stereo controls, “pretend you’re a trophy wife and I’m your side piece.”

“Ohmigod” I reach my hand out and put it on his, “this was your idea so stop masturbating over this car and make a useful suggestion!”

He grins at me, delighted at my scolding and shoots, “Las Vegas. Pretend we’re eloping.”

“How about the beach and pretend I’m not going to drown you for being annoying.”

“I don’t remember you being so mean” he’s still got that dopey grin on his face, “I bet that’s why they pay you all that big money, keep the clients scared.”

I start the car and begin to back out and he grips the door handle, but I am a much better driver than I was in high school. But since he’s being such a brat, I decide I will not let him know that and he can sweat about it for a couple of miles.

_Peter_

We’re definitely not getting back by 2PM given that it’s 1:47 and we are almost an hour outside of Santa Barbara getting settled into a wine tasting. Lara Jean keeps asking if I’m sure drinking wine when I’ve just had a hangover is how I want to spend the day.

“I’m sure. This is great! We’re in California we should be tasting wine! I’m filled with fancy donuts and there’s a killer charcuterie menu, this is good, let’s do it.” She gives me a big smile and rubs her hands together.

“I’m so excited!”

We do the tasting, we order the food. It’s a beautiful place and it feels good to be outside instead of in conference rooms all day listening to legal lectures. Lara Jean is in a great mood and it’s thrilling to see her relaxed and giggling. She knows a fair amount about wine and asks educated questions and she and the sommelier chat away and I sneak a pic of her just to capture this very perfect moment.

The winery has a path you can take that lets you see some of the vineyard and she asks if I want to take a walk. When she stands up my eyes take her in – the running shoes and leggings with those sexy see through panels, the grey t-shirt that hugs her curves and bellows “HARVARD” from her chest. Her hair is down and blowing in the breeze and she has sunglasses on and she’s beautiful. I open my mouth to tell her that but she turns with her phone to take some pictures and I finish my glass of wine and remind myself that I cannot tell my ex-girlfriend who I am day drinking with at a romantic winery 3,000 miles from home, that she is beautiful because I am _engaged to someone else._

We walk and I try to keep my eyes off her way too perfect ass in front of me and look to the things she’s pointing out along the trail. “Can I ask you something?” I say and she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Sure.”

“Why do you go by LJ? It’s in all the registration stuff and you introduce yourself that way.”

“I realized that being a diminutive Asian American woman in the legal profession was not going to be the easiest thing in the world – so by using initials and having a non-Korean last name, people didn’t know what to expect, or they just assumed I was not who I am and it got me a lot less grief, easier to open doors, get email responses, that sort of thing.”

I nod, “that makes sense, although Lara Jean is such a pretty name.”

She gives me a warm look, “is that why you call me by my last name all the time?”

“That’s just a sign of affection” I smile at her and she gets a little blush of pink over her cheeks. “Speaking of last names, why didn’t you change yours when you got married?”

“I did” she stops and looks out at the rolling hills in front of us covered in grapevines. “But I only used it in my personal life, like my driver’s license and credit cards, that stuff. I kept my name professionally. It made my dad so proud that I was a lawyer, his dad had been one and I wanted to honor that legacy. Anyway, now I have to wait until my divorce is finalized to file the papers to return my name. It’s a huge hassle and I regret ever doing it in the first place.”

Her mood has shifted slightly, and I want to get back the Lara Jean from the table – bright and happy and unburdened.

“You know what that guy’s problem is?”

She turns to me, “he has so many, but sure, give me one.”

I lean towards her and whisper, “his name is Holden.” And she laughs loudly, and it makes me laugh, “I mean, Holden McGuire?” That’s a soap character name. And not a good guy either, but the evil twin who comes back from the dead to steal his sister’s baby and hold her for ransom to pay off his gambling debt that he faked his death to escape.”

Now she’s giggling and she gives me a playful shove on the shoulder, “you’re right, I should have known.”

“You want more wine?” I tilt my head back towards the serving room and to my surprise she puts her arm through mine, and we head back together.

* * *

**wednesday evening**

_Lara Jean_

We did three wineries and I ordered way too much wine to be shipped home to New York, and I missed the entire day of AAC getting buzzed with my ex-boyfriend with a fiancée in the hills of Southern California but I feel strangely good – energized and happy. The light is that perfect evening gold and the air around us is still deliciously warm as Peter drives us back and the car glides so smoothly and he drives it like he belongs in a Mercedes. It’s such a strange turn on but I used to find the way he drove incredibly sexy.

“What?” Peter says and I am jolted because apparently, I just said that last part out loud thanks to the wine.

“You’re a really good driver” I try to cover, and he flashes me that stupid, deadly grin and I would like to reverse time now or jump out of the moving vehicle, either will work.

“I think you were a little more specific before” he needles me and what the hell, after this week I probably will never see Peter Kavinsky again and he’ll get married and life will go on.

“When we were together, I thought your driving was sexy. You were confident and in control and I liked how you’d drape your wrist on top of the steering wheel, like driving was the easiest thing in the world for you, you could be so relaxed about it. That’s all.”

He nods and keeps his eyes on the road, “you mean like this?” and he rests his wrist on the steering wheel and lets his long fingers dangle and I could punch him because it is having the same effect it did before.

“You’re just a good driver, Peter. Being good at something can be sexy.”

“That’s true.” He glances at me, “you’re incredibly good at what you do, that’s sexy.”

“What?” I practically shriek, “what’s sexy about being a lawyer??”

“That presentation you did yesterday? You were confident, you knew your shit and you were not afraid to show your intelligence and didn’t let others make you feel like you weren’t an expert on what you were talking about. People responded to that Lara Jean, how many of them wanted to meet you after? Talk to you? Connect with you? You are powerful and charismatic and that’s attractive, it’s not always sexy because of sex, but it’s absolutely appealing and interesting and that turns people on in all sorts of ways.”

I take all this in, and I don’t know how to respond. It’s insightful and flattering and that feeling of being seen is like an aphrodisiac. In this moment I want nothing more than for him to drive all night and tell me all the ways in which he sees me – and when he’s done, I want him to kiss me and that’s not the first (or second, or even fourth) time I’ve thought about kissing him today and it scares me. I cannot entertain any thoughts of kissing Peter Kavinsky and he’s being completely unhelpful keeping these thoughts at bay with the way he’s driving and his stupid wrist and beautiful hands and I just need to get to the hotel and sober up, take a bath, read some papers for work, stop being so horny and sleep it off.

_Peter_

It feels like we have to sneak in so that no one will notice that we were missing the entire day. Lara Jean is a little unsteady on her feet, so I take her hand and head up the stairs because the elevator looks crowded.

We go slowly down the hall towards her room and I feel a strange surge of anxiety that I don’t want this day to end. I want to keep talking to her and laughing with her, I want to keep her hand tightly in mine and go back inside her room and close the door behind us and more than anything I want to forget the fact that I can’t kiss her.

At her door she lets go of my hand and turns around and looks up at me, “thank you for a wonderful day” she says softly, “the car and the wineries – and my sweatshirt” she gives me a little smile and tugs at the drawstring of the hoodie I bought her at the last place, the setting sun making her shiver as I teased her about how useless her Harvard shirt was at keeping her warm. She looks like the girl I fell in love with, her face glowing and her smile full of what feels like affection. I forgot just how amazing it felt to have Lara Jean Covey look at me that way.

“Thanks for letting me convince you to skip out on school” I joke, “I’m very happy you did it.”

“You ever think of becoming a trial lawyer?” she says, “you have incredible powers of persuasion.” I make a face like I’m considering it and she giggles. “So, um, tomorrow I’m pretty booked” she adds, “and I’m definitely going to be up late tonight catching up on my work.”

“There’s that Ball tomorrow” The conference has two final nights of big events, a Ball on Thursday and a closing ceremony and party on Friday before we all head home on Saturday. “Do you want to go?”

“Um, I don’t know if I’m going.”

“Covey, there’s no way in hell you didn’t plan a killer outfit for tomorrow. Going to a Ball dressed like a million bucks is your sweet spot.”

“Fine, maybe I’ll see you there. Good night, Peter” and she puts her arms around my neck and hugs me, even rises up on her toes and I pull her into me and hug her back. We stay that way for several long seconds with our arms wrapped around each other, my face buried into her hair and hers burrowed against my neck. It feels intimate and intense and bittersweet and I am desperate for it not to be over.

In my pocket my phone buzzes and Lara Jean releases me quickly and steps into her room, closing the door so she doesn’t see me answer it. “Hey, honey” I whisper into the phone as I back away down the hall.


	5. for you i would ruin myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a slow dance in a beautiful room, a mutual decision, the lure of temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** illicit affairs/ taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**thursday morning**

_Lara Jean_

I must do everything in my power to avoid Peter today. One restless night of thinking about him coupled with a highly erotic dream that I can’t stop replaying in my head combined with the guilt that is setting in that there’s a tall, blonde, International Relations expert in Massachusetts who is waiting for her fiancée to come home and marry her, it’s all making me crazy.

I just need to bury myself 1000% in the conference and make some final plans for meetings with people and get on a plane home to New York on Saturday and forget all this happened.

_Peter_

I’m an asshole.

I didn’t tell Rebecca about my day with Lara Jean.

It has become alarmingly clear in the last four days that I don’t deserve this woman. She loves and trusts me. She’s planning a wedding and a life with me and I love her, I honestly do. But seeing Lara Jean and reconnecting with her the way we have has reminded me how much was unfinished between us and that has completely fucked me up.

And I’m also still incredibly attracted to her. There’s a chemistry we’ve always had that felt like it grew weaker towards the end of our relationship, I know I probably justified a lot of my bullshit towards her then thinking there was no “spark” left. As if that electric jolt is the only thing to run a relationship on – such a young dumb guy way of thinking.

There is very obviously still a spark there otherwise I would not desperately be trying to distract myself from thinking about kissing her – feeling her lips crushed against mine again, the softness of her tongue or the seductive way her body would melt in my hands the harder I kissed her.

I’m about to go into a lecture and I’m getting a hard on from Lara Jean make-out fantasies and I need to get my shit together and focus on the conference and my fiancée and that’s it.

Note to self: Stop. Being. An. Asshole.

* * *

**thursday night**

_Lara Jean_

I find half a dozen excuses not to attend the Ball, but my law school friends Maggie and Li, good attorneys that they are – shoot all of them down and insist I come for free drinks and some dancing.

My day of successfully keeping my distance from Peter feels precarious as I look around the beach club ballroom for him. The room looks stunning with floral arrangements and candlelit tables – the doors open to the terrace where plush couches sit under heat lamps above the beach.

We find a table and order drinks from a hostess and I run into Mitchell who introduces me to people as a “rising young star at Davis Miller” which is incredibly flattering and the conversations with them are an excellent distraction from fretting about Peter.

When I get back to our table Maggie leans over and whispers, “there is a very handsome man who has been staring at you for the last 15 minutes.” I start to turn my head and she hisses, “LJ, no! Never look!”

“Sorry,” I say, “what does he look like?”

“Oh!” Maggie whispers, “oh, he’s heading over here right now!”

“What?” I stop myself from looking again and smooth my hand over my hair.

Maggie suddenly stands up and introduces herself and I hear Peter give her his intro and then she says, “if you’ll excuse me, I see a colleague I need to talk to” and she’s gone.

“Hi” he says as I finally turn to look at him. “I thought maybe you’d do me the honor of a dance. I won’t even get upset if you step on my feet.”

My will immediately crumbles because he looks gorgeous in a black suit and dark green tie that even in the flickering candlelight, I can see bring out his eyes. “I’ll have you know that like my driving, my dancing has much improved.”

Peter slides into the chair vacated by Maggie and twists his mouth to the side, “I limped for days after prom, Covey.”

I roll my eyes at him, “I will go to my grave saying you rented shoes that were too small but, you have your version, I have mine.”

He puts his hand out towards me, “don’t you want to prove to me what a great dancer you’ve become? You already showed me what a fantastic driver you are now.”

It’s terrible how badly I want to take his hand and place it in my lap and let him part my legs and move the slit of my dress until he could slip under the fabric and stroke along the inside of my thighs.

“Lara Jean?” my eyes snap up to his and I am a wreck just thinking about his touch, I don’t think I can handle the actual sensation. “Just one dance and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the week. I know I’ve taken up a lot of your time here and things have gotten a little – intense a couple times. Just one dance, please?”

I nod and slip my hand into his and he lets out the smallest little exhale and I realize he is just as anxious as I am, he may be even more than me because he has far more to lose than I do if we take things any farther than they’ve already gone. He leads me to the floor, and we find an open spot. The music is slow, and he wraps his arm around my waist and I willingly press into him, let him take my hand as we start to move.

“Not bad, not bad” he murmurs, and I curl my other hand over his shoulder.

“Told you” I reply, and he chuckles.

“You are full of surprises Lara Jean Covey” we move around other dancing pairs, “you’re here, you’re a lawyer, a married woman, a great driver and decent dancer, and you can kill a grown man in the gym. What else is there to uncover about you?”

_Peter_

I tried not to look for her and I tried not to stare at her when I found her, but she didn’t make it easy. She looked stunning with her hair up in a pretty sort of braid, loose strands framing her face. She was wearing a black dress that was as sexy as it was sophisticated. It was impossible not to stare, and I wasn’t the only one doing it and it made me feel possessive.

So I went to her even though I told myself not to, and I asked her to dance even though I knew it was risky, and I held her and she smelled delicious, she felt perfect with her body against me, her small hand clasped inside mine. And I tried to keep my words light and not betray anything that was boiling up inside me – _what else is there to uncover about you?_

There’s a nervous energy before she looks me straight in the eye, “here’s something you didn’t know – I still have feelings for you, and I don’t want to because there’s nothing to be done about them. What we had is in the past and it needs to stay there, I know that.” She inhales and her exhale comes out shaky, I can feel how tense her entire body is in my arms, “I want you to be happy, Peter, happy with her and the life you’re going to have. But I have to say this right now – if you asked me to come to your room tonight, I would do it. I would go against every instinct I have to not wreck your life because I want you that much.”

I don’t realize we’ve stopped dancing until a couple bumps into us and apologizes and then we narrowly miss another pair then Lara Jean gives me a tug and I take a few steps and then following her lead about going against better instincts I bring my lips to her ear and whisper, “come to my room.”

_Lara Jean_

We slip out of the Ball, my hand in his as he maneuvers us through the crowd and back across the street to the hotel. When we get inside the lobby he goes straight to the elevators and impatiently stabs at the button three times.

Neither of us talk but when the elevator doors open he guides me in with his hand at the small of my back and it is thrilling, I bite back a smile as other guests come in after us and press myself against his palm and steal a glance at him, see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows hard and digs his fingers lower.

We’re still quiet as we exit and move along the hallways towards his room, his hand is already inside his jacket pocket getting his keycard out. When we reach his door, he turns and looks me in the eye and I nod and the door opens and we go in. As it clicks closed behind us all the civility ends and we are at each other like we’re on fire.

I push him into the wall and kiss him hard, his mouth immediately opening to match my hunger and I moan at the remembered taste of him, take his head in my hands and grasp through his hair so I can have more of him. His hands move quickly to my ass and he grabs me with a groan and thrusts me against his hardness, moving his hips to get friction and I go for his belt as he starts pulling me towards the bed.

We don’t even make it that far before he’s lifted me onto the desk and pushed my legs open, _“lift your dress”_ he urges in a voice I haven’t heard in so long that it makes me lose my mind, I grasp at the fabric, sliding the slit over just as I had imagined when he first sat at my table tonight. _“Yes, yes, that’s it”_ he moves his body in between my thighs and I drop my head back to let him kiss my neck and down towards my breasts, one hand is moving its way up my leg and the other is tugging the sleeve of my dress down so he can drag his mouth over my exposed shoulder.

When I can’t take anymore teasing I grab his wrist and push his hand up to the desperate heat beneath my panties and he hisses out a long _“fucccccccck”_ and I smile against his ear, his head dropped now and his body heaving with thick breaths. _“Is this for me?”_ he murmurs into the crook of my neck, his knuckles pulsing against me and I nod. _“You’re so fucking wet.”_

I whisper into his ear, “you did that, baby” and ruffle his hair as I kiss behind his ear, up along his forehead and lift his face to kiss his mouth. “Now you know how badly I want you” I shift my hips towards his hand, and he sucks on my bottom lip and gives it a little pull with his teeth as I writhe against him.

Sliding my hands under his jacket I tug it back but his hands are entangled in me, “take it off,” there is no mistaking the demand in my voice and he pulls away and grins as he takes the jacket off and tosses it on a chair. My eyes go wide and he comes back to kiss me but I put my fingers out to keep him at bay, “I like this” I run my fingers along the suspenders he has on and he peers down at his torso. “I like this _very_ much.” He shrugs as if he doesn’t get why it turns me on and lifts me again to bring me to the bed. The mood seems to be shifting from wild ripping off each other’s clothes, to something softer and more deliberate as he puts me down and slips the suspenders off his shoulders, undoes his tie. I watch him hungrily and he reaches down and cups my face. I turn to kiss his palm and he makes this noise – a soft choking sound and when I look back up his expression has changed. His eyes don’t look like they’re devouring me anymore – they look devastated. He’s got his shirt undone but it hangs open and I shake my head and sit back away from him.

_Peter_

“I’m sorry” I say and I drop into a crouch in front of her and press the heels of my palms against my forehead, “Lara Jean – I shouldn’t have – I can’t do this to you – I can’t do it to her.”

“I know.” Her voice is resigned, and I can’t bear to look at her. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I instigated this even though I realize…” she stops, and I look up and she’s wiping away a tear, “that I can’t have you.”

“Shit, don’t cry,” I move to my knees and reach to capture the tear, but she puts her hand up to let me know I can’t touch her and I crumple back and sit on the floor, rest my arms on my knees. “What can I do, baby? Tell me, I’ll do anything to make this better for you.”

“There’s nothing” she moves off the bed and starts pulling herself together, I look away, it feels too intimate to be watching. “Don’t call me baby” she says quietly. I didn’t even realize I said it – that is how messed up I am over her.

“Let me take you to your room” I jump up but she’s already at the door and shakes her head, “please?” I beg, “I’m going to freak out worrying about you all night long.”

“I can take care of myself” she says her voice like steel now, “like I did the last time.” She leaves with the knife clear and deeply thrust and I let the howl I’ve been keeping in the last few minutes roar out of me. I have hurt her twice now, and Rebecca – I betrayed Rebecca tonight. I asked a woman to marry me and share her life with me, and six months later I was on the verge of fucking someone else.

Not just some other woman. A woman I am beginning to understand that I am still very much in love with.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. I'm ready. I know there is going to be a lot of yelling in the comments. I deserve it. 😉
> 
> Just remember - you're getting _two_ chapters on Friday so your suffering will be short lived!! 😘


	6. balancing on breaking branches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a beach at night, an overdue confession, a difficult decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** exile/ taylor swift feat. bon iver / folklore (2020)

**late thursday night**

_Peter_

I’m on the bed. I paced around the room, brushed my teeth, took off my suit, paced some more and lay down. I checked my phone and started dozens of apologies to Rebecca until I realized that I need to tell her in person. She can’t wake up to a text only a few days before I’m arriving home that says, “I almost cheated on you with my ex.”

I stop myself three different times from going to Lara Jean’s room to make sure she’s OK. She said she initiated it but I’m as much to blame. I could have told her nothing could happen because I was committed to my fiancée. But how committed _am_ I that I immediately asked her to come with me, to come in this room and spend the night with me?

I hear a noise in the hall and glance at the time and it’s 1:45AM. I hear it again and it’s clearly a knock. “Who is it?” I ask with my hand on the knob.

“It’s me.”

I pull the door open and she looks so tiny, her hair piled up in a messy bun and the winery sweatshirt on over running shorts and she’s anxiously biting the inside of her cheek. “Hey, I’ve been worried about you. Do you want to come in?” I know this is a ridiculous offer and so does she because she doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Can you come for a walk? It won’t take long.”

_Lara Jean_

We trace our steps back down in the elevator keeping our distance this time then out the lobby into the front of the hotel and across the street. I lead him to the entrance down to the beach. Behind us at the beach club ballroom there are still a few stragglers on the terrace having drunken conversations about politics as inside the sound of clinking glasses echo as staff clean up from the Ball.

I pull off my sneakers and Peter does the same and we move down the sand away from the lights and activity. When it gets quieter and we are the only people around I sit down and he stays standing for a few moments then sits next to me, keeping space between us. It’s not unexpected but it still hurts.

“I’m not sure where to start” he says and I stop him.

“Peter, I’ll start.” I take a deep breath, “ten years ago you broke my heart. I loved you so much and it wasn’t enough – you wanted someone else – or many someone else’s – I never really knew. And it felt so awful to not be loved by you anymore, I just shut down for a long time and it wasn’t healthy for my heart or my mind. Since my marriage fell apart because my husband also wanted many someone else’s, I’ve followed the same pattern, just retreated into my shell and fortified it because if someone who made a vow to me could break me like that, then how am I supposed to trust any man who says he loves me ever again? And this week has just screwed me up in many ways – painful and challenging ways but also incredibly beautiful ones.” I look over at him and his head is hanging down, staring at the sand. “You may not realize it, but you made me see that I still want to be loved, I do need intimacy and to be seen and cherished and valued and taking the risk to trust again is something I will have to work towards and stop hiding behind my job and my suit of armor. So, thank you for that, truly, I needed to know that and I’m not sure when I would have gotten there if you hadn’t opened my eyes the last few days.”

He makes a noise and rubs his face against the arm of his sweatshirt. “How can you thank me for anything? I’ve been nothing but a disaster for you – two times. The fact that you even gave me the time of day here has been a miracle and each minute I’ve spent with you I’ve thanked the universe that you seemed to still care about me in any way.”

“I’ll always care about you” I murmur, “you were my first love. There’s nothing that can replace that.”

He looks at me and he’s crying, “I have to tell you something about why we broke up and it’s long overdue, in fact I should have just confessed to you on Sunday when I first saw you and we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble: There wasn’t anyone else, I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t get sick of you or want to be with anyone else even though I acted in ways that let you think that, said things that probably made you feel that’s what I was doing. I loved you Lara Jean, so fucking much and it was eating me alive to see you content where you were, leading a life at college without me where you didn’t seem to struggle through the time apart like I did. I was upset and lonely and I was jealous that you had so much that made you happy beyond me because I needed you too much to be able to function the way you could.”

He turns his body towards mine, “I had this incredibly stupid idea that if I let you think you were somehow not what I wanted anymore, then I wouldn’t have to admit to you how fucked up I was, how petty and resentful I felt. My idiot 20-year-old brain somehow decided making you feel unworthy was better than letting you know how desperate I was not to lose you. Then you’d hate me, and I could say, _well, I deserve it_ like some sort of twisted punishment for myself for something I was entirely responsible for.”

“That answers quite a few questions I’ve always had” I murmur and look back out at the ocean.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.” Peter’s voice is low and hoarse, and I know it’s genuine. “I would give anything to take it all back. It has never stopped haunting me that I had it in me to do that to you when you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I put my hand out in the sand and open my palm and he takes it and closes his fingers around mine. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a sound between a cough and a laugh, “just like that?”

I nod, “just like that. It’s in the past, Peter. I think I had forgiven you long ago in some sense even though there wasn’t any closure. Now there is and I don’t want to carry the weight of our ending anymore.”

“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, Lara Jean Covey and I’m not sure I’ve ever deserved any of the love or forgiveness you’ve given me, but I’ll take it.”

Some drunk college kids wander by, “hey man” they mutter to Peter and raise their beer cans and he nods as they stumble away. “Poor bastards” Peter mutters.

“Are you going to tell Rebecca what happened?”

He blows out a breath and rolls back onto the sand, releasing my hand. “Yes, because I can’t carry a shiny new load of guilt for the rest of my life.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive you?”

“I don’t know. I hope so, but if she doesn’t, I wouldn’t blame her.”

I stand up and dust the sand off me and Peter sits back up, “what happens now?” he says.

Looking up at the night sky I sigh, “this is so hard for me to say but – we shouldn’t see each other again.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up, “ _ever?_ ”

“I think so, yes.” He shakes his head like this isn’t acceptable, but I continue, “I don’t trust myself to be near you and not act on how I feel about you. And you can’t possibly believe there’s any scenario in which you tell your future wife what happened here this week, and she has no issue with us maintaining any sort of relationship – even just as friends.”

He nods his head sadly and whispers, “no.”

I kneel down in front of him and hold his face and give him a long look, study his features – his beautiful eyes and thick eyebrows, the scar at his chin and his full lips and I silently tell him I love him. Then I place a long kiss on his forehead and rise. “Goodbye, Peter” I whisper and before he can say anything or argue with me or insist on walking me back, I turn and sprint back towards where we came from and I don’t stop running until I am safely behind the locked door of my room where I let the sobs wrack my body.


	7. but you would still miss me in your bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an afternoon in new york, a photograph in california, a night in boston

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** my tears ricochet / taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**friday morning**

_Peter_

She’s gone.

I heard what she said, and I wasn’t going to chase her down and do more stalker ex-boyfriend shit which let’s just say it, I have done _plenty_ of this week, I was just going to detour past her room and give myself peace of mind that she was safe.

But her door is open, and housekeeping is coming in and out of it with new towels and clean sheets. “Where’s the guest,” I ask one of the women, “who was staying in this room? She’s about this tall” I hold out my hand, “very pretty, Asian American, did she move rooms?”

“She checked out, sir” she offers and goes back inside with new rolls bottles of shampoo and lotion.

I move through the rest of the day like a ghost and skip the evening closing event. I am torn between wanting to leave as soon as I can so I can escape all the reminders of Lara Jean’s absence – and understanding that the sooner I get home, the sooner my confession to Rebecca has to happen. She has sensed something is off the last two days and the tenderness in her voice when she asks if I’m alright breaks me. I love this woman, but I am also in love with Lara Jean and when I get on that plane I am heading towards a reckoning.

* * *

**sunday afternoon**

_Lara Jean_

Getting home a day earlier was the right thing to do. I had extra time to unpack, order groceries, get to the gym and back on my routine. I made social plans with friends for the coming week and triaged my work so I could hit the ground running when I got to the office in the morning.

I am not going to lie and say that I didn’t second guess my decision to say goodbye to him. I thought about it from the time I got back to the room, as I changed my ticket, on the ride to the airport and nearly the entire flight. And I decided that once the plane touched down at JFK, I could no longer debate if I’d made the right call, it was done. He was going back to his fiancée and he was going to get married in three months.

Unless she broke up with him over what we did.

I shake the thought from my mind. I have gotten over loving Peter Kavinsky once before and I can do it again. Plus, I have enough to process with Holden and moving my divorce through as quickly as possible and losing as little money to him in the process as I can. I just want my life back and to focus on my work and no drama for a long while.

* * *

**late sunday night**

_Lara Jean_

I miss him so much.

_Peter_

I drag myself through Logan Airport and into an Uber and scroll through my messages. I have worked out an entire speech and apology for Rebecca and can only hope that it will be enough.

My mom has texted some photos of her visit with my grandparents, so I swipe through those and smile at how happy everyone looks. I save them to my camera roll and remember I took a screenshot of a book for my brother at the airport, so I open my photos to look for it and there she is: Lara Jean at the winery – she’s resting her arms on the table with a glass of white wine between her hands. She’s looking off to the side, talking to the sommelier with her sunglasses on top of her head and her dimples are out and I can’t stop staring at it – reliving that entire day and studying every detail of her image and how it captures how gorgeous she is and how carefree she let herself be with me.

I don’t notice the car has stopped until the driver says my address out loud and I snap my head up and mutter a thanks, moving to the app to leave him a tip. I stand outside the building with my bags and stare up where I know Rebecca is sleeping. The speech and apology will have to wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. I now realize that my note last night that your "suffering would be short lived" was a tad premature since this all just probably added to it!


	8. it's hard to be anywhere these days when all i want is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a midtown conference room, a declaration, another chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** this is me trying / taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**thursday afternoon, late may**

_Lara Jean_

Ever since I got back from AAC I’ve had a lot of great opportunities come my way at work. Apparently, Mitchell in LA talked to the New York office and relayed how pleased he was with my performance on his panel, joining in last minute and being fully prepared made a very good impression. It’s exciting to have a few career goals I planned to meet months or even one to two years from now suddenly be within closer reach.

It has also kept me busy and therefore too exhausted, to dwell on my feelings for Peter who I have not spoken to since that night on the beach and who is getting married sooner than I can allow myself to think about.

With the holiday weekend almost here, the office is getting quiet which is good, giving me time to work uninterrupted as the partners head off to the Hamptons and my fellow associates plan road trips, pub crawls and roof deck parties. I don’t want to squander any of the good will coming my way, so I am looking forward to a long weekend of burying myself in contracts and new clients.

“LJ?” My assistant Oliver taps on my door and I look up, “there’s a gentleman here to see you, he doesn’t have an appointment but says he just needs a few minutes of your time.”

“What’s it about? Is he a potential client?”

Oliver looks at the note in his hand, “he says it’s about Intellectual Property statutes in the state of California.”

“He’s probably another referral from LA, give me five minutes.” Oliver nods and closes the door and I finish what I’m working on and get out a pen and pad and my business card, check my hair and reapply my lipstick before I leave my office. Oliver normally makes the introduction but he’s on the phone, so I pass his desk to the waiting area and stop dead in my tracks.

Peter Kavinsky stands up and gives me a warm smile.

He’s casually dressed in Converse and khakis and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and his sunglasses tucked into the pocket and my instinct is to run into his arms but that is inappropriate for a thousand different reasons.

“Hey, Covey” he says, and I blink hard a few times and then loudly announce, “Oliver, Mr. Kavinsky and I will be in conference room 4.” He’s still on the call but I gesture Peter to follow me and lead him into our most remote conference room and close the door behind us.

“This place is impressive” Peter whistles as he looks out the window at our Manhattan views, “is this the same view from your office or do you see something else?”

“Peter, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you” he’s being maddeningly nonchalant.

“About California IP Statutes??”

He grins – _that grin_ – and leans on the corner of the table, “that was supposed to be a clue, did you get it?”

I shake my head and cross my arms, “you show up in my office, 200 miles from where you live, in the middle of the day after I told you a month ago we couldn’t see each other again.”

He nods, “that is all correct, counselor. Hey, can I have this?” he picks up my card that’s on top of my forgotten notepad whispers _nice_ as he reads it then slips it in behind his sunglasses with a glint in his eye.

"You have two minutes to explain yourself and then Oliver is going to show you back to the elevator.”

“OK, OK” he stands back up and rubs his hands together, “I wanted to bring you up to date on a few things and I wanted to do it in person so, I’m just gonna start, do you have time for that?” I’m silent and he nods, “Right, so, I’m here in New York because I’m looking for a job because obviously, I’m leaving Boston…”

“No, it’s _not_ obvious, why are you leaving Boston?”

He gives me a little squint and it’s adorable and I hate it, “Do my two minutes include you interrupting me? Or, does the clock reset?”

“Peter! What do you have to tell me??”

“Let the record show Ms. Covey’s impatience has added time to my clock.” He gives me a wink and I have never wanted to punch _and_ kiss someone so hard at the same time in my entire life. “But to answer your question – I am moving because I quit my job and I want to come back here. I miss New York, I miss people _in_ New York.”

He fixes me with a look and my heartbeat feels like it is thrumming on the surface of my skin, “what about Rebecca?” I manage to say.

“It’s over with Rebecca. We called off the wedding. I’m not getting married, Lara Jean.” He takes a step towards me, but I hold my hand up and he stills, I can see a look of confusion come over his face.

“Because of me? Because of what we did?”

Just then the door opens, “excuse me, LJ? Did you want water, coffee, or…” Oliver pops his head in, and I adjust my face into what I hope resembles normalcy before I turn to him.

“We’re fine, Oliver. Can you please see that we’re not disturbed?” Sensing the tension in the room he backs up and silently closes the door.

“Peter,” I turn back to face him, “did you lose your fiancée over me?”

_Peter_

The urge to take her in my arms and soothe away whatever it is she’s feeling is a hard one to tamp down. But I do my best even though she’s gone pale and looks like she could use some of that water she just refused.

“I got home from the conference late that Sunday and I slept on the couch, or, mostly just stared at the ceiling until she woke up. I was only going to tell her what happened with us those last few days in Santa Barbara. But it didn’t end up coming out the way I planned.”

“How did it come out?” she’s almost at a whisper.

“It came out that I wasn’t sure that us continuing to plan a wedding and a marriage was the right thing to do when I was in love with you.”

“Oh my _god_.” She grasps the back of a chair to steady herself, “what have you done??”

“It wasn’t meant to be, OK? If it was, I wouldn’t have done what I did with you that week – I would have been able to keep a friendly distance, instead of spending time with you every day, fantasizing about kissing you, and very nearly sleeping with you.”

She’s shaking her head, “I can’t believe you.”

This is a surprising reaction, “you’re mad at me because I did the right thing? Did you just get over me the second you bailed out early and ran back here?”

Lara Jean covers her face with her hands, “I left early because if I saw you again, I would have gone back on every single thing I said about staying away from each other and it terrified me where that could lead!”

I can’t help but smile at this, “you want to be with me.” She’s clutching her head and not looking at me, “you do, you want it and I want you, and we can have that, it’s why I’m here.”

“I didn’t ask you to call off your wedding, I didn’t want Rebecca to get hurt.”

I throw my hands up, “that’s how it works, Lara Jean! I’m sorry I hurt her, I am _deeply_ sorry because she’s an incredible woman and I thought she was the one but she’s not – that’s the truth, she’s not my one. That’s _you_. And it has always been you and I’m not going to be the idiot who blows it again and doesn’t do everything I can to get you back.” She lets me move closer to her now and she’s trembling, so I reach out and gently hold on to her arms, “I blew up my entire life for you…”

“I didn’t ask you to do that!”

“Can you stop interrupting me? That wasn’t an accusation! I blew up my life for you willingly – my relationship, my job, my future there. And it’s shitty that I hurt someone I care about, but she deserves a guy who wants to be with her as much as I want to be with you. She deserves a husband who is not constantly thinking about how in love he is with someone else. Lara Jean you are absolutely worth wiping the entire slate clean and starting over because I can’t think of a single moment since I saw you there that first night that you have not been on my mind. Even if you say no to me now, I’d still make all the same decisions I did since I saw you getting your martini. Every – single – one.”

She looks up at me and her eyes are brimming with tears and I move to kiss her, but she shakes her head.

“I’m at work, I can’t be crying and kissing a guy in the conference room.”

I chuckle, “what if he’s a potential client?”

“That’s worse!”

“Fine, what if he’s looking to work here and this is an informational interview?”

She rolls her eyes, “you have to go, I can’t deal with all this now _and_ get through the rest of my day.”

“I’ll go, but only if you say I can see you this weekend.”

“I’m working” she sniffles.

I take a chance and move my hands to her hips, and she shivers, but it feels like the good kind of shiver. “You name any time and I will plan something. I have no job and my stuff is in storage, so I have nothing to do but plan perfect dates for the woman I am deeply, insanely, ridiculously in love with.” Her eyes light up and she makes a little sigh and it is the best sound I’ve heard in a long time. I lean close to her ear and whisper, “c’mon Covey, name a time.”

She rests her hands on my forearms, and it’s innocent but electric. “On Sunday if I get through enough of my workload, we can meet in the afternoon.”

“You’ll get it done.”

“How do you know?” she cocks an eyebrow at me, “I have a _lot_ to do.”

“I know because,” I press a kiss to her right cheek, “you’re brilliant,” I move to place one on her left cheek, “you work incredibly hard,” and I pause over her lips, “and you want to kiss me again,” I tip my head away, “but you have rules about kissing in conference rooms, so…”

I release her and she makes a sexy pout as I reach for the pen and scribble my number on her pad and tear it off then fold it and press it into her hand. “See you Sunday” I whisper before taking her hand to kiss and making my exit past Lara Jean’s very curious assistant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, there - all better now? 😘😉


	9. will it be just like i dreamed it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a classic date, a new intimacy, a morning filled with promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter title:** betty / taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**saturday night**

_Peter_

“You made this entirely too easy on me” I tell her as she brings over a bowl of popcorn, “I mean, I was ready for a romantic picnic in Central Park, drinks at a rooftop wine bar, an expensive meal at a five star restaurant.” She sits down next to me and drops a piece of popcorn into her mouth, “but all you want to do is watch a movie together.” She pushes some into my open mouth and giggles.

“I just wanted to stay in and relax, and this was one of my favorite parts of our previous relationship.”

“Oh, I remember movie nights well and I’m not complaining – I’m really happy to be here. And your place is incredibly nice, I like it.” I glance around at Lara Jean’s cozy Upper East Side apartment. It’s feminine and pretty with big windows and hardwood floors and decorated like a little cottage dropped into the middle of Manhattan. She’s filled it with photos and art, mementos and books that all perfectly capture who she is.

She picks up the remote and moves closer to me and I watch her as she flips through her menus, “what kind of things do you like to watch now?” she looks over at me and I must look like I have cartoon hearts in my eyes because she giggles again. “Are you going to watch a movie or look at me all night?”

“Since you asked, it’s probably going to be the latter.”

She blushes and pulls her legs up on to the couch, “in that case, I get to pick!”

I nod my head and she chats as she goes over options and settling on a drama, she tells me about an actor in it who was her first client at Davis Miller and then she moves up next to me and the movie starts and I feel grateful as hell that after the damage I did to her in the past, she’s ready to give me another chance.

_Lara Jean_

I wake up and am dazed for a moment because the TV is off and there’s a blanket on top of me and a chest rising and falling under my cheek. I shift a little and Peter drops his hand on to the top of my head to gently caress over my hair. I didn’t mean to fall asleep during the movie, but I have done ridiculous amounts of work in two days and I couldn’t wait any longer to see him. This was a way to spend time together without having to expend energy on leaving my apartment.

But now we’re asleep on my couch and it feels sweet and safe and familiar. This used to happen in high school and college, movie nights that ended with cuddling then making out and eventually more than that.

I feel a little like I did back then – like I need to work my way through those steps again. Despite the fact we almost slept together in Santa Barbara, I am nervous about that now even though there are no obstacles in our way. For one thing we haven’t yet talked about being in a relationship again and we’re 30 years old and it feels like we should be clear about what we want this time. And the other is sort of embarrassing but the fact is I haven’t had sex in a seriously long time. The last person I slept with was a guy I met on Tinder because my friends insisted I needed post-Holden hook-up and we had a brief and enjoyable enough time, but I still retreated back into my trusty protective shell when it ended.

Peter’s other hand is on my back and he runs it up and down my spine a few times before letting his fingers linger at the hem of my shirt so I stretch slightly so that the shirt rises, and he takes the hint and brushes up underneath it. His fingertips on my skin feel like heaven and I let out a sigh to let him know I like it.

He kisses the top of my head then brushes his lips at my hairline and I curl my fingers into his shirt and press my face against his chest, inhale his warmth and scent – I want to bury myself in it. I just want to do this for a while, touch and explore and learn each other again. When he runs his hand under my hair and grips my neck, tangles himself in my hair to lift my face to his it is so arousing I moan in a way I haven’t in a very long time.

“Lara Jean” his voice scratches as he holds me there so his mouth is tantalizingly out of reach and he says it again, and again as he moves me closer and kisses me just soft enough to make me writhe in frustration. _Take it slow_ I tell myself so I relax into the kisses, the slow promise of them, the way it feels good to just kiss someone again and Peter has always been a _great_ kisser. Our last kiss in his hotel room was all frantic pent-up sexual tension but this one is tender and delicious, and I could do this all night.

He’s massaging my neck and caressing my back, the tempo of his kisses lulling me into feeling like my body is liquid. It is so soothing that I can’t help but yawn – mid make-out and I gasp in horror and Peter cracks, “am I boring you, Covey?”

I shift back so I can see his face, “I am so sorry! That was in no way a reflection on your very strong kissing game!”

“My kissing game is strong” he laughs, “but you have been working your pretty little ass off” and he gives it a grope, “and you’re tired. I get it. You should go to bed and I’ll get going.”

“No!” I cry and his eyes widen, “I mean, yes I need sleep, but you should stay, it’s late and I could make you breakfast in the morning.”

“I like this offer” he cups my face and runs his thumb over my cheekbone.

“I think you should stay on the couch.” His eyes flicker, “it’s just that, we should talk about things between us and just take our time, can we do that?”

“Of course we can” his eyes are warm, “there’s no rush, I want us to get it right this time. And this is a great couch, I’m gonna like sleeping on a couch this comfortable.”

I glance down, “you’re kind of too big for it.”

“I’ll make it work, come on, get up” he starts sitting up, “go brush your teeth and all that” he turns my hips towards the bathroom, “then come back and kiss me goodnight. I promise to lower the quality of my kiss so you aren’t tempted to jump me.”

_Peter_

I am just falling asleep when I hear a door creak and I blink expecting to see Lara Jean maybe getting a glass of water. But she comes and stands next to the couch.

“Hi,” I whisper, “it’s too early for breakfast, Covey.”

She puts out her hand, “come to my room.”

I push myself up, “are we sleeping or something else?

She exhales a breath, “I’m not sure but I know I want to be near you.”

I get up and take her hand and let her lead me into her bedroom. There’s a light on low on the built-in next to her bed. She points to the right, “that’s my side” she murmurs, and I nod and move to the left. We stand there facing each other for a few minutes from opposite sides of the bed. I’m admiring her silky tank that drapes over her spectacular body with little matching shorts peeking out underneath when she suddenly laughs.

“Is that for me?” she asks, and I look around and she points, and I realize she’s talking about what I’m wearing.

“You like it?” I smooth my hand over the “HARVARD LAW” t-shirt that I picked up on my way out of Boston. I forgot I had it on under my pullover even though I wore it to surprise her like this.

“I love it!” she crawls over the bed to get to me, “it is burning your skin? Wearing the beautiful and superior crimson?” She reaches me and runs her fingers over the letters, “I’m extremely sexually attracted to you in this shirt” she says with a sly smile.

“You are such a hot little snob, Covey. Now you have to get a Columbia one for me.”

She wrinkles her nose, “fine! I will but there can’t be any photo evidence.”

“I can’t promise anything because I’m pretty sure you would look scorching hot in Columbia Blue – and _don’t”_ I tap her nose “pull an attitude on me or I’ll go back to the couch.”

The pout she gives me makes me want to rip her clothes off.

“Peter?”

“Mmmm?”

“I haven’t had sex in a long time.”

“That’s OK.”

“Like a really long time. And – I’m nervous.”

I brush her hair back behind her ear, “why are you nervous?”

“I may be bad at it.”

“Impossible.”

“A _long_ time, Peter!”

“That means that all that pent-up energy you have is going to make me the luckiest bastard alive.”

She smiles, “You make me feel confident.”

“You are confident! You don’t need me to make you feel that way.”

She looks down and tugs at the t-shirt, “as much as I love that you wore this for me, I think it’s time to take it off.”

“You do, huh?” I reach back and start pulling it off.

“I do” she sighs, “oh, _damn_.” I toss the shirt away and her eyes are big as they travel over my torso, and she runs her hands down me, “I don’t feel so tired anymore.”

_Lara Jean_

“I’ve missed this” I say as I trace a fingertip over Peter’s collarbone, “and this one too” I move up the other side and he smirks and holds my waist. I smooth my hands over his shoulders and down his triceps, giving them a little nudge to encourage him to grip me a little harder, which he does. “I can confess now that when we worked out at the hotel, I was checking you out.”

He chuckles and licks his lips, “I guess I missed that because I was so busy trying not to stare at your truly _stellar_ ass” his hands move down to gently press into me and he makes a very pleased moan, “Jesus, it feels as good as it looks. I have never given so many hours of thought to one woman’s booty as I have to yours since that workout.”

“Good!” I can’t stop touching him, “I _literally_ work my ass off keeping it in shape, so it better be memorable.”

That makes him laugh and he dips his head to kiss my shoulder as I wrap my arms around his neck and softly scratch my nails up into his hair, my face going to the beautiful slope of his neck down to his shoulder that I have also missed so much. We keep gently exploring each other with touch and placing soft kisses on bare skin and eventually I lean back on my heels and take his hands in mine.

“I’m not nervous” I murmur, and he blinks at me, like he’s waking from a dream. “I want this as much as you do,” I pull him down on to my bed and throw a leg around his hip and push into him and he grabs me and leans forward for a kiss.

“What about talking over how this is going to work?” He mumbles between the press of our lips. “Our new relationship?”

“Oh that,” he brushes his thumb over my lower lip and stares at it before giving it a long, sweet suck and I forget how to think, “um, we can talk…” the things he’s doing to my neck with his mouth make words hard to come by, “…over breakfast.”

“Yeah?” he’s at my ear and just the warmth of his breath on my skin is making me greedy for more of him, “you’re sure?” I just nod and manage a moan of agreement. When he pulls away, he gives me a sexy smirk, “I’ve never slept with a married woman before,” and I smile as he moves a hand up my thigh and pushes it tighter to his waist.

“Well this one is exceptionally horny and needs dedicated attention from a man who knows exactly what he’s doing”

He suddenly pulls my leg off him and in one breathtaking move presses me down on the bed with his knees pinning me in, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I know you do” I throw my arms over my head and give him a sly grin, “so do it.”

_Peter_

I lay on my side next to her and stroke my hand from her knee up her body and each time I pause then go back to start at the knee again and go higher on each pass. By the time I’m running my hand over her breasts she’s arching up to push into my touch. I cup her face and turn it to mine to kiss her deep and slow and she moans into my mouth and grips my forearm.

I move to kiss her cheek then nuzzle her ear and she pushes my arm down to her stomach and then releases it. When I look, she’s parting the sides of the top, like it’s a curtain, and as it falls away exposing her stomach my eyes widen.

I shift down to get closer and look up at her, “oh my god you have pierced belly button??”

Her eyes flutter open and she blushes and laughs, “um, yes I do.”

“I need details Lara Jean, so many details! Can I?” I hover my finger and she nods, so I feel along the hoop and shake my head in wonder.

“About a month after Holden left there was a week where I went a little insane and did quite a few nights of bar hopping with friends and making stupid bets over shots and then during a drunken rant about all the things I was going to be able to do once I was divorced, my friend Alicia decided that getting piercings was obviously the first thing on that list.”

“I am a very big fan of Alicia,” I brush my fingers over it and adore the shudder she makes.

“Let me tell you, nothing good ever happens at 2 in the morning after you’ve just downed something called a Zombie and piled into a cab with your friends to go to a 24-hour tattoo parlor in Brooklyn.”

“I am getting off on the idea of you hiding this wild child piercing under all your very sophisticated lawyer clothes.” I dip my head and blow a warm breath over her belly button and she makes a pleased little gasp, so I kiss it. "Not to mention my Good Girl teenage girlfriend who would never."

“I keep thinking I should just take it out” she murmurs.

“No way, it is sexy as _fuck_!”

She giggles, “I’m glad you’re not horrified, it’s not really me, is it?”

I push the sides of her top further apart so it is barely covering her and smooth my fingers along her ribs as I kiss all over her stomach and she moves her hand into my hair and starts digging her nails lightly into my scalp to tell me she likes what I’m doing. When I circle back down around to that little silver ring, I glance up at her before rolling the tip of my tongue around it and into the loop and she groans. I play a little, use my teeth to give a few gentle tugs and brush one thumb down to tease under the waistband of her shorts and her nails start to scratch a little harder.

“You could make me come” she gasps, “just doing that” I look up at her and grin and she pants, “ _ohmigod_. I can’t take it – what you’re doing to me and that grin, you’re killing me.”

I lift my head and come back up to her, keeping my hand on my favorite new toy at her belly. “What’s wrong with my grin?”

She shakes her head, “don’t play dumb, it’s deadly – you _know_ it’s deadly.”

“It’s just my face” I counter, “it’s how I smile.”

She laughs and turns her body towards mine, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about and how to deploy it like a weapon, and that you are well aware that it makes little girls swoon, old ladies blush, and women in between eager to drop their panties for you.”

“That sounds like an amazing superpower!”

“With great power comes great responsibility, Kavinsky” she laughs, “use it wisely.” I kiss her and put my hand on her hip.

“If my _completely_ innocent grin makes panties drop, how do you explain why these are still on?” I pull at the waistband of her silky little shorts and she makes her own face that I suspect she uses when she’s doing what she’s accusing me of.

“If you admit you know about the grin and you do it on purpose, I’ll take them off for you.”

“I can’t help it if I have a friendly smile and it gets you horny, Lara Jean, that’s all on you.”

“Come on,” she coaxes and moves my hand down to her ass cheek and that’s clearly my kryptonite because I immediately start pawing at her, “imagine how good it feels when it’s bare skin, nothing in the way…”

I am pretty sure I would confess to murder right now if she said it meant I could get her damn shorts off and have my hands cupping her up against my cock. I nod, “I may be aware that I can sometimes smile in a way that might be intended in a flirtatious or persuasive manner when directed at members of the opposite sex.”

She makes an exaggerated moan, “oh, sexy lawyer talk in bed! Is there any fantasy of mine you can’t fulfill?”

“Can I say I have never had so much fun with foreplay in my life?” I laugh and she joins in.

“It is pretty amazing” she leans up and kisses me. “This is my favorite kind of intimacy – tenderness and appreciation and honesty and a little humor. It makes the rest of the relationship richer, including sex.” She kisses me again with more intention and directs my hand back to her bottoms and lifts her hip so I can pull them down with ease.

“God I’ve missed you in my bed” she sighs as she returns the favor by helping me finish undressing.

_Lara Jean_

Oh.

Oh my.

_God._

* * *

**sunday morning**

_Peter_

Lara Jean is bustling around her pretty kitchen making us breakfast – there are dishes out and pans heating, berries waiting to be washed and coffee is on.

When I come out of the bedroom I stop and watch this scene and take in how incredibly lucky I am to be here right now. She catches me watching her and smiles, “good morning, handsome. Do you want some coffee?”

I head over and wrap her up in my arms to lift her into a hug and she squeals, “I have a spatula in my hand!” But I just hug harder and she starts to laugh, and I hear it clatter by my feet. I tilt my head back, “good morning, gorgeous” I grin and kiss her, and she clutches my shoulders and her body is so warm and I don’t want to let her go.

“Peter,” she squirms in my arms, “I have to finish making the crepes.”

“Crepes?” I reluctantly let her down, “This looks amazing, but I would have taken a bagel, you didn’t have to do all this.”

She shakes her head at me and opens a butter dish, “are you kidding? What do you feed the man who gave you the best sex of your life? I feel like I should be baking you a triple layer cake and pouring you a glass of expensive champagne!”

I bend my head down, “excuse me, what did you just say? I’m the best sex you’ve ever had?”

She drops the butter in the sizzling pan and looks up at me with an indulgent smile, “I forgot you get cocky after sex.”

“It’s natural to feel proud of your talents” I stick my tongue out at her and she rolls her eyes and pours batter into the pan and tilts it around a few times. “You have a talent that I enjoyed finding out about last night” I say.

“And what is that?”

“You are bossy in bed. You didn’t used to be so – specific – with your requests.”

She’s flipping the crepe and smiling, “I just don’t think it’s worth wasting the time trying to make you guess when I know what I like.”

“You can demand anything you want from me.” I run my finger over her spine and slip my hand under my Harvard t-shirt she’s wearing and graze her lower back. “I will give you anything you want.”

She pours a second crepe, “give me a kiss.”

“Where?”

She taps her shoulder and I move behind her and press my lips to the spot and give it a kiss. “What else?” I ask in her ear as she flips the pan and says, “hold me and kiss my neck.”

I do as I’m told, and she presses back into me and it gets me hard. I keep my mouth on her neck and taste from one side to the other as my hands stroke her body and she keeps cooking. She starts rocking her hips into my cock and my touch get less gentle, more urgent.

“You need to stop grinding on me, or stop cooking or things are about to get real dangerous in here” I say into her ear with a groan because she definitely does not stop with her hips. I snake my hand down between her legs and rub slowly and she drops her ladle into the bowl of batter.

“Shit” she hisses but I can’t help but laugh and I spin her around so she’s facing me and pull off the apron she has on, “I’m not done!” she protests but she doesn’t mind when I lift and drop her onto the counter, moving my body in between her legs and my hands to feel her up.

_Lara Jean_

“The stove” I manage to say between the crush of our lips. With barely a glance he shoves the hot pan off the burner and spins the dial off and there’s something so authoritative in that one gesture that I bite on his lip and he makes a low, sexy sound.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun, aren’t we?” he looks at me with that grin that I love possibly more than anything else in the entire world.

“We already are” I say and we both look to the stove and start laughing – there’s batter drops everywhere, a crepe cooked to a crisp on a pan that is tipped to the side and my apron crumpled on the floor.

“Are you going to let me down from here so I can clean that up?”

“I’ll clean it up – after you make out with me.”

I laugh, “aren’t you hungry?” and he fixes me with the same look he gave me last night as his fingers were slipping inside me and I feel my body starting to tighten with pleasure.

He pulls my hips to the edge of the counter and moves my legs to link around his waist, “I’m starving, but it’s just going to be better if you kiss me now and feed me after.”

His lips are on my mine and his hands are all over me and I manage to mumble, “you make a very strong case” as I dig my nails into his back. We are just getting to the point where sex in the kitchen seems like it is absolutely how Sunday morning is going to start – when the coffee maker starts beeping.

“Are you _serious?_ ” he groans as he turns to glare at the machine at the other end of the counter.

I start to giggle, “in high school it was a parent knocking on the door, in college – a roommate coming back early and in adulthood, the coffee maker interrupting all the good stuff.”

He laughs and kisses my nose before going over and pouring me a cup, dropping in one sugar cube and a dash of milk before bringing it back to me.

“I can’t believe you remember how I take my coffee” I marvel, and he kisses me again before handing it over.

And then Peter Kavinsky cleans up my stove and I finish making crepes and we talk about his move and we stop to kiss many times and then we eat at my little table by the window and it’s possibly the most perfect morning I can remember having in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story continues to blow my damn mind. You are all amazing and you have no idea how much gratitude and adoration I have for your dedication to this au 🧡🧡
> 
> We're in the final stretch! Thank you so much for staying on this journey - I know it has been a little more challenging than what I usually write for these two and I appreciate your trust in me doing this journey for our LJ and PK right. 
> 
> xo - Q


	10. love you to the moon and to saturn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a proposition, the domestic life, the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you beautiful readers/commenters! You have been a true bright spot in my pandemic life. I'm so thrilled I could give you some flirty, angsty, sexy, fluffy distraction from yours.
> 
> Did you notice the chapter count has changed? Did you know that you inspired me to add on a little treat for you as a thanks for the amazing response you've given this story?
> 
> We're not done here. Chapter 11 will post tomorrow and I think you'll like where we leave these two 😉

**friday night, mid-june**

_Lara Jean_

I get home from work and Peter is on the living room floor, his laptop on the coffee table and papers spread around. His job search has been complicated by the fact that the offers he’s received haven’t paid what needs to earn. Part of the break-up with Rebecca involved losing a lot of money on deposits that he couldn’t recoup, and he didn’t feel he deserved to get back considering he was the reason there wasn’t a wedding.

The original plan when he got to the city was to move in with his friend Matt from law school, but he spends most nights here and I like having him here, we have a lot of lost time to make up for and this feels like a good start for doing that.

“Hey, how’s my favorite lawyer?” he asks as I unload all my stuff and come over to kiss him hello.

“Exhausted. Had back to back meetings all day and lunch with my biggest mansplaining client and we’re negotiating with a studio that are being all kinds of shady.”

He laughs and turns to where I’m perched on the chair behind him and slips my heels off and starts rubbing my feet. “I can make us some dinner and we’ll open up a bottle of that Pinot from your endless Santa Barbara stock.”

I laugh and flop back into the seat, “I can’t believe you let me buy all that!”

He tickles my foot and I make a squeak. “What do you want for dinner?” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

“You should move in.”

“Because I give you foot massages the minute you get home and cook dinner and ply you with wine and sex on demand?” he thinks I’m joking but I’m not.

“I love every one of those things but I’m serious, Peter. I’m asking you to move in here.”

His hands pause, “you want to live together?” I nod, “you don’t think that’s rushing things?”

I lean forward, “I don’t know, maybe it is or maybe it’s the exact right time. I just know that when I’m leaving work and I think of you being here when I get home it makes me happy. When I wake up and your arm is slung around my waist and your breath is on my neck, I’m content. I like cooking with you and cuddling on the couch together and even seeing your shaving kit in the bathroom excites me – this is my home but it’s not the same when you’re not in it. I want you to live here with me.”

“Damn, Covey. That was quite the invitation.”

“I didn’t even rehearse it!” I grin and lean forward to take his face in my hands, “do you want to live with me or not?” He grabs me for a kiss, and we fall back into the chair laughing between kisses, “counsel is going to need verbal consent from the invited party!” I holler.

“You are such a law nerd” he chuckles into my neck.

_Peter_

I make a quick stir-fry while Lara Jean changes into her cozy clothes and lights candles and opens the wine.

She’s got her hair up in a topknot and she comes over and caresses my back as I stand at the stove. “Hey roomie,” I say, and her face opens into a huge smile and she rises on her toes for a kiss.

“I love you” she whispers.

“I love you too,” I brush the tip of my nose against hers and she makes a contented sigh. “This is almost done if you want to set the table.”

She nods, “it smells so good.”

“Hey, did you look at your mail yet? There was a registered envelope.”

She goes to the door and rifles through the basket there and pulls out the large flat one. “It’s from my divorce attorney” she announces. I watch as she goes to her desk and slides a letter opener into the crease and then slips out several sheets of paper

She looks up at me with a big smile then waves the papers, “it’s official!”

“You’re divorced?” She nods and comes back to hand me the papers. I skim over the _Dissolution of Marriage_ certificate with the box checked that Lara Jean can revert to her maiden name and I whistle. “That is some wild timing, you get rid of a husband and get a live-in boyfriend on the same day!”

She takes the papers back and throws them on the counter and hugs me so I lift her up with a roar and she is so delighted I can feel it in her entire body. “This is the best day ever!” she chortles.

We have dinner and drink the wine and after she brings the bottle over to the couch and I follow and sit down with our glasses. “This feels like a weird time to tell you this and I was going to say it when you came home but suddenly, we had a lot to celebrate.” Her brow creases in concern and she watches me. “It’s just that tomorrow was the wedding – tonight would have been the rehearsal dinner. And it’s just been floating through my head this alternate timeline where I don’t go to the conference and see you and then I’m getting married to someone else tomorrow.”

“Are you sad?” she asks.

I shake my head, “I’m not sad, I belong with you, Lara Jean – this is the right timeline. You are my one and only and in some ways there’s this wild symmetry that all these things happened tonight – you asking me to move in and getting your divorce finalized and me closing the chapter of my engagement for good. It feels like we can fully move on now.”

She smiles, “I like that – and I’m sorry – I hope one day she forgives you.”

“Well, on Sunday she’s taking her best friend on the honeymoon that I paid for most of so at least she’s going to have ten fun days in Hawaii.” She’s still holding the open bottle, so I reach for the glasses and she pours, “let’s have a toast to our new life together and make out on the couch like horny teenagers then take it to your bedroom so you can order me to do dirty things to you.”

“Our bedroom” she corrects.

“ _Our_ bedroom” I tip my glass to hers and we drink.

“Have you ever slept with a divorcee before?” she asks with a devilish grin.

“No, I have not had the pleasure.”

She takes my glass and puts it down with hers then moves herself over to me and purrs, “well, you’re about to.”

* * *

**early september**

_Peter_

I’m sitting in the living room finishing up some research for work. I got hired at Columbia’s Office of General Counsel doing my thing in Intellectual Property. Talk about hitting a bullseye on my perfect job. Lara Jean was so excited that she went and bought us both a lot of Lions gear that I tease my little Harvard Law grad about when she wears hers, but she knows how much I love it when she does.

I get an email from Rebecca which is the first time I’ve heard from her since I moved back to New York. There was a remaining wedding expense to sort and she let me know she’s been seeing someone – he teaches French at Wellesley and apparently had a longtime crush on her but didn’t act on it, then she was engaged so when we broke up he didn’t want to miss another shot. It’s brief but feels like a tentative step to closure and I’m happy she’s found someone who sounds like for him, she might be his one. She even signed it _I hope you are both well_ which made Lara Jean wish she could reach out personally. The weird thing is, I think they would really like each other in some other timeline that doesn’t involve me leaving one of them for the other.

We run into Holden McGuire at a reception for an exhibit downtown. He and Lara Jean are friends of one of the artists, so they were there to show their support. I recognized him but wasn’t sure why – I’d only ever seen those photos on the internet months earlier and she has no trace of him in the apartment. It wasn’t until I saw him make his way over to talk to her that it clicked, and I gave them some time so I didn’t appear like an overprotective boyfriend – plus, Lara Jean can take care of herself. When I did arrive, she had no hesitation in taking my hand in hers and introducing me as her boyfriend. He was friendly and laid on the charm a little too thick but at least I didn’t punch him, which I thought would be my instinct when I finally came face to face with the ex-husband who caused the woman I love so much grief.

Lara Jean is crushing it at her job and I’m so fucking proud of her. She works harder than anyone I’ve ever met and it’s clear her firm has big plans for her. Her workaholic tendencies did require an intervention which is why her electronics are all sitting on the desk out here with me while she reads in bed. She was always such a voracious reader so when I found out she couldn’t recall the last time she’d read a novel or anything not law related, I took her to the NYPL to browse the fiction section and then a few nights a week, I remind her to go to bed without her phone or laptop and just enjoy a book. 

“Hey, my love” the bedroom door opens and she comes out, “are you coming to bed soon? I need my cuddles.”

“I just closed my last tab” I grin and she shakes her head.

“Your tab closing habit is so weird” she comes over and curls up next to me, “normal people leave all the tabs open so everything they need is right there.”

“That what bookmarks are for” I kiss the top of her head. “How’s your novel?”

“Good!” she rests her head on my shoulder, “I’m going to go back to the library and get more by this author, she’s an incredible writer, I haven’t read anything quite like it before.”

I slide my laptop on to the couch and put my thumb under her chin to tilt her face up for a kiss. _“Thank you, Peter for encouraging me to read again”_ I murmur against her lips, “you’re welcome, Lara Jean I’m happy you are recharging your imagination instead of reading issues of Harvard Law Review for fun.”

She scrunches her nose, “you’re not cute when you’re smug.”

“Yes, I am” I grab her head and pull her in for another kiss and she moves her hands around my neck and kisses me back with a giggle. “You know what else I have totally earned the right to be smug about?” I move from her mouth down to her neck and she sighs and relaxes into me.

“Is it what I’m wearing?” she throws a bare leg over my lap and I run my hand up it to the hem of my well worn white Columbia Law School long sleeve T that she appropriated as her sleepwear when I moved in.

“Mmm hmmm” I nuzzle her throat and go up under the shirt which is so big on her it reaches her thighs, grasping her hip I lift her and move her on to my lap and she makes a husky little giggle.

“It’s very soft” she says, and holds up her arm, fingers pinning a sleeve to the heel of her hand, “and I like how it gives me sweater paws.”

I laugh at that and wrap my arms around her, “how can you be so fucking cute and so insanely sexy at the same time?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, how do you do it?” She comes in for another kiss and I feel myself getting hard underneath her. She notices and presses down on me and whispers, “will you _please_ come to bed now?”

Nodding I slide her off me and standing up, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder and she squeaks at the surprise as I head to our bedroom. “You keep promising me you’re gonna get those booty shorts made” I hold her legs with one arm and give her ass a light spank with my free hand, _“Property of Peter Kavinsky,_ right here” I smooth my hand over her perfect curves before I set her down on the bed.

She looks up at me with flushed cheeks and glinting eyes, “didn’t I tell you? Everywhere in the city is out of stock. I guess lots of women’s asses belong to you. I told you it’s that that grin of yours.”

I tackle her until we are both rolling around the bed laughing, “well, that’s embarrassing,” I finally say, “I gotta stop handing those out on the subway.”

“You really do,” she is giggling and breathless, “I’m the only one who belongs to you and don’t you forget it!”

“Never” I pull the covers back so she can get in and then strip down and join her, “I will never, ever forget you are mine – forever.”

* * *

**late december**

**Lara Jean**

To say the last two years have been a whirlwind would be an understatement. I was married then separated and divorced; I moved apartments, got a promotion and a big salary jump at work; I went to a conference where I ran into my first love who I forgave, fell back in love with, said goodbye to – and who showed up a month later having broken someone else’s heart to get mine back. And then he moved in. And now we’re heading back to our hometown to celebrate Christmas together with our families for the first time in over a decade.

Some days I think I’m still trying to catch my breath but then Peter wanders over while I’m hunched at my laptop for the third straight hour and he nuzzles my neck, massages my shoulders and reminds me to take a break for a little while; or he hands me the New York Times Book Review with titles circled he thinks sound like things I’d like to read; those nights he pours me a glass of wine and orders takeout and serves it to me on the couch because I’m too exhausted from my week to even get up and get a plate myself. In those moments my breath is steady, I feel the air fill my lungs and slowly press out with ease. And I realize that this is my life now – with this man who I never imagined would be part of my world again, let alone the center of it and I’m so happy and grateful. And surprised, I am still very, very surprised at all the turns we have taken to get to this point.

Peter moved in two months after our reunion in Santa Barbara and since then we have talked about everything from the mundane – our favorite cafés and what to make for dinner and where we want to spend a weekend out of the city; whether we are cat people or dog people; what shows to binge watch. And we’ve talked about the important details that build a relationship: how we feel about having kids; what our biggest fears are about this commitment to one another; what the triggers are for each of us that send us into behaving in our worst ways towards the other; what we think our future looks like.

And of course, we talk about marriage a lot. Peter is eager for it, I can see it in his face when it comes up and hear it in the way he lays out ideas he _“just had”_ that he clearly has given a great deal of thought to when he shares them with me. I feel sure it's what I want some days, unsure others. I love him and I refuse to let my experience with Holden color how I feel about marriage, but there is still a little bit of a panic in my gut sometimes when we discuss it. So, instead of climbing into my suit of armor when the topic is on the table and closing myself off to him – I work really hard to share how I’m feeling and learn to be OK with saying difficult things to him, and knowing that he’s committed no matter what I say – he’s not going to abandon me again and the fact that he wants to marry me so badly is evidence of that.

Explaining to everyone in our lives that we’re together has had its ups and downs. Peter’s Boston friends are understandably confused and certainly the ones he shared with Rebecca have cut him out entirely. My friends here love the romantic saga of how we found each other again and my college friends are skeptical after having nursed me through the heartbreak he caused. My sisters were initially furious, but I can already feel Kitty starting to soften, her friendship with Peter one of the casualties of our break-up and the idea that they could renew it clearly appealing to her. She and Margot agreed to be open-minded and cordial at Christmas so my fingers are crossed that Peter’s devotion to me and his natural charm can win them back. On his end his mom is thrilled as apparently, I was always her “favorite girlfriend” of his so, his house should be easy.

On the flight home Peter dozes off on my shoulder as I try to finish some work so I can enjoy the holiday as uninterrupted as possible. He jolts awake and startles me, “are you OK?” he’s rubbing his face, “bad dream?”

He shakes his head, “no, just that thing where you feel like you’re in a free fall. Do you ever get that?”

“I do” I ruffle my fingers through his hair which is messy from sleep, “although I would think having that happen on a flight would be even creepier.”

He nods and looks at my screen, “still working?”

I am but I also know he’s anxious about facing my sisters, so I save my work and close my laptop, “not anymore.” He smiles widely at me and I give him a kiss. “It’s all going to be fine Peter. They trust me and know I’m not someone who makes decisions lightly.”

He blows out a breath, “yeah, I know. I don’t blame them for being suspicious of me – I would be too because of all the _being an asshole to their sister_ that I did."

I take his hand and give it a squeeze, “I was thinking, we should talk to them and my dad about my mom’s ring.” His face lights up – one of our many marriage conversations has included my desire to wear my mom’s engagement ring as my own. It was something that came up with Holden, but he dismissed it and at the time I didn’t let on how much it bothered me.

“Really?” He sits up straighter, “does that mean you're coming around to marrying me?”

“I have never opposed the idea” I caress his cheek, “I just wanted us to take our time with it.”

He grins at me knowing full well the effect it has, “I mean, you also wanted us to _take our time_ ” he does air quotes, “before jumping into bed together – then threw that out the window two days after I declared my love to you and less than five hours after I’d been in your apartment, one of those hours we were asleep on the couch, so technically you couldn’t wait four little hours to get me between the sheets.”

I huff out an offended sigh, “in my defense…” I start but he’s got a hand at the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss.

“Covey…”

“Mmmm?” his lips graze mine and I have already lost my train of thought.

“Don’t lawyer me, just kiss me.”

There’s just no good argument against that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter title:** seven/ taylor swift / folklore (2020)
> 
> Let's do it again tomorrow! 🧡🧡
> 
> \- xo Q
> 
> [I made a “cover” for Tumblr and have completely forgotten to share it until now! Please reblog if you liked the story – I’d love to share it with more readers.](https://queenie-004.tumblr.com/post/631241865563455488/invisible-string-a-decade-after-a-traumatic/)


	11. one single thread of gold tied me to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a stolen kiss, a summer celebration, a happy ending
> 
>  **Story/Chapter title:** invisible string/ taylor swift / folklore (2020)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this entire saga and all the AMAZING comments (even the yelling and threats around chapters 5-7!) This is a truly kind and supportive fandom and I hope you know just how much I appreciate being part of it and that you trust me to always do right by these characters 🧡
> 
> [I made a “cover” for Tumblr for you to check out and please reblog if you liked the story – I’d love to share it with more readers.](https://queenie-004.tumblr.com/post/631241865563455488/invisible-string-a-decade-after-a-traumatic/) (I fully admit I've been _dying_ to find an excuse to use the PSISLY "engagement photos" for a cover!)

**mid-july**

_Lara Jean_

Everything is perfect – the sun dappled setting, the people we love surrounding us and the tall, handsome man waiting for me under the grape arbor. When Peter proposed at the start of the year it was as if everything in my mind and gut stopped racing and I just said what I felt in my heart, and that was that yes, I wanted to marry him and I wanted to do it as soon as we could make it happen.

My job did not make that easy and much of the planning fell to Peter who relished the chance to make every dream we could possibly have about our wedding come true. We agreed immediately on a location – picking one of the wineries from our visit during last year’s conference. It felt like even though we didn’t know it at the time, that day together was a turning point for both of us in recognizing that we still had serious feelings for one another.

My first wedding was big and traditional, so I wanted something less showy and more centered on us and Peter was into the idea, so we asked only our immediate family – our parents and siblings and their partners. No attendants or programs or tossing of garters or confetti and Peter’s brother Owen takes the photos for us. It is a small gathering but exactly how we wanted to start our lives as husband and wife and we share an incredible dinner as one big family, with the rolling vineyard hills as a backdrop on a warm summer evening with custom label bottles of wine to celebrate our marriage. We follow that up with some dancing and lots of silly photos and laughter and it’s a truly joyous night.

As a surprise wedding gift for Peter I rent another Mercedes convertible for the weekend and it’s even sexier and posher than the one we got the last time and he is thrilled. It’s also a gift to me because I get to appreciate seeing my husband driving it and he enjoys showing off for me, his new wedding band glinting in the dashboard lights as his hand moves between the steering wheel and my thigh.

 _My husband._ It is not a thing I thought I would say again after what I went through the first time. Holden was wrong for me in so many ways, but I can now see that he helped me get to this point where I knew what I wanted and the type of partner I deserved. It’s strange to think that losing Peter led me to Holden and losing Holden led me back to Peter, but all of that heartache, strife and confusion was a hellish journey that led me right to this moment that feels almost too good to be real, and yet it is deliciously, truly the real thing.

_Peter_

Lara Jean showed me the dress she picked out to get married in, but I wasn’t allowed to see her in it until she walked down the aisle. But even that glimpse was not nearly enough to prepare me for how she looks in it floating towards me on her dad’s arm. Her smile is wide and excited, her hair is pulled back and gathered at the base of her neck – it’s almost like how she had it when I saw her getting her drink at the bar – but it’s looser and softer now, framing her face like she’s a legit angel.

My eyes take in the tiny sparkling crystals dotted around her shoulders and the long, sensual slope of the dress over the curves of her body. Before she reaches me, she stops to hand her bouquet to Margot and then meets me and mouths, “what do you think?” before giving a little spin and I hope my brother got a photo of my face with my jaw dropped on the goddamn ground. The crystals dot along the low cut of the dress to form a V at her lower back as if pointing me to her flawless ass that the dress hugs in ways that are making me jealous of a piece of fabric. And if that isn’t all enough sensory overload, the beading also drops over her shoulders like a sparkling ribbon plunging down her bare back to meet at a knot between her shoulder blades. It is impossible to control the hungry groan that comes out of my mouth and I don’t even care if everyone hears it.

When she’s facing me again she reaches her hands out to take mine and I cannot help myself and I kiss her - just take her surprised face in my hands and kiss her to the sounds of our heckling family and laughing Justice of the Peace, and Kitty cheering me on. When I release her, she just giggles and shakes her head, “that’s for after the vows, Kavinsky” she cracks, and I resist the very real urge to start touching her body in front of our parents.

“You are a goddess in this dress and I couldn’t be sure I was going to make it to the vows” I manage to say.

“You better” she whispers and takes hold of my hands and looks around at everyone with a smile, and then says to me, “are you ready to do this?”

I have never been more ready for anything in my life.

We booked a bungalow at the same hotel where we met at the conference. As we head back through the gardens towards it, Lara Jean’s hair is down and loose and she’s taken her heels off and is walking barefoot along the manicured path, “this is possibly the cleanest place on earth to go barefoot” she said as she held on to my arm to unbuckle the straps and I laughed because she’s not wrong. The entire place feels like a movie set and this day feels like a romantic movie that we’re the stars of.

We clearly look like newlyweds by the way we’re dressed, and our dazed happy grins and several people congratulate us as they pass, more than one of them compliment my wife on how gorgeous she looks. Each time I echo them she squeezes my arm she’s clutching, her new wedding band nestled tightly against her mother’s engagement ring – _her_ engagement ring.

It’s only been a few hours and I already know I am never going to get tired of calling Lara Jean _my wife_.

Our place is small and secluded, and the staff has done as I requested, lighting candles around the suite and leaving the lights on in our private pool so there is an ethereal glow outside the glass doors of our bedroom. There’s also a plate of warm cookies and a bottle of chilled milk out and Lara Jean is gleeful when she sees it. “Did you do this too?” she looks at me as she breaks off a piece of cookie and puts it in her mouth.

I nod, “I know you like a late-night snack.” I take my jacket off and slip my loosened tie from the collar. “And while our vows talked about trust, honesty, compassion and communication, they did also mention taking care of each other’s needs for the rest of our lives.” I move to her and brush crumbs off her lip with my thumb.

“Speaking of needs…” she kisses the tip of my thumb and then turns around, giving me the deadly sight of her backside in this dress. “You need to undo all this before we can go to bed.”

I brush my fingertips over her bare back and follow my touch with kisses and she drops her head forward to give me more access. Pushing her hair to one side I loop my fingers through the beaded lasso and tug it gently to bring her body into mine. She gasps and reaches her hands back to clutch at my hips. “I _need_ to be told how to take this off you,” I murmur in her ear, “and you know how much I love taking orders from you.”

She squirms in my grasp and leans her head back onto my shoulder to turn her face so I can kiss her mouth, my hand going into her hair, “you are very good at following directions” she whispers between kisses, “the best.”

She pulls away from me and picks up her clutch and pulls something out. “You’ll need this.” She waves an implement at me and directs me to the bed where I sit at the end.

“What am I holding?” I ask after she gives it to me.

“It’s a crochet hook – for the buttons. The loops are really small.” She positions herself in front of me and turns around so I’m faced with the task at hand. “Just take your time. There’s not that many of them.”

I chuckle, “this is not how I envisioned undressing you on our wedding night, Covey” She giggles and I fiddle with the tool and it’s not that difficult and there’s a nice little tension growing between us as I get each button at the base of her back free of its loop. When they are all undone, I skim my fingers along her spine down low and she shifts her hips back at me, so I place slow, open mouthed kisses on the newly exposed skin. “What do I do now?”

She slips the ribbon over her head and turns around to face me. “Now you carefully peel it down my body.” I grin and reach up to her shoulders and start rolling the dress down slowly, deliberately letting my eyes take in every inch of her bare skin. “And you tell me how much you love me.”

“I love you more than anything” I say, and my eyes meet hers as my hands guide the clinging fabric over her hips, “marrying you is the smartest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”

“Hmmm” she hums as she steps out of the dress and stands in front of me in only a pair of equally alluring panties. I’m about to take them off her when she climbs on my lap to straddle me. “It is the smartest thing you’ve ever done. And the best thing that I’ve done. I love you so much, Peter.” She kisses me and I wrap my arms around her and soon she hugs me back and we stay entwined with each other for a few moments, absorbing what this day has meant.

“Hey” I whisper into her hair, “at the end of our winery road trip last year, do you remember our hug when I walked you to your room?” I feel her nod, “I didn’t want to let you go.”

“I didn’t want you to” she murmurs and brings her face back up to mine, “and now you don’t have to – ever again.” Her mouth rises into a smile and I clutch her before sliding her down onto the bed, making her giggle in anticipation.

“I know you’re not taking my last name, but for tonight’s purposes, you’re going by Mrs. Kavinsky.” She reaches up for my suspenders that she insisted I marry her in and wraps her fingers around them and licks her lips.

“Being called Mrs. Kavinsky in bed is one of my kinks – along with bossing you around and when you wear a Harvard Law shirt.”

“I’m not about to put on the shirt” I smirk at her as I unbutton the one I’m wearing, “but I can offer you two of your three favorite things tonight as part of the New Wife Package.”

“Ohhh” she sighs and sits up to start helping me get rid of the rest of my clothes, “You know that I have way more than three favorite things.”

“Uh huh” I press down into her and she moans while her hands move along my back to urge me closer, “tonight’s the first night of the rest of our lives spent discovering _all_ our favorite things.”

* * *

**epilogue**

_LJ Song Covey, daughter of Dr. Daniel Covey of Greenpoint, OR and Peter G. Kavinsky, son of Suzanne Kavinsky of Greenpoint, OR and David Kavinsky of Tucson, AZ were married by a Justice of the Peace at Campi D’oro Winery and Vineyard in San Miguel, California on July 22nd._

_The bride, a graduate of Harvard Law School, is a Senior Associate Attorney at Davis/Miller Entertainment Partners where she specializes in Contracts. The groom graduated Columbia Law School and is Associate General Counsel for Intellectual Property at Columbia University. The intimate ceremony and dinner overlooking the vineyard hills was shared with family only._

_The newlyweds were high school sweethearts whose romance didn’t survive their college years and they hadn’t seen each other for a decade until they unexpectedly ran into one another last year at the Attorneys of America Conference that both were attending in Santa Barbara. While each had other romantic entanglements at the time, their reunion served as a reintroduction and discovery that there were still unresolved feelings from their prior relationship._

_Their second chance at happiness began post-conference when Mr. Kavinsky followed his heart and left his position at a Boston firm and returned to New York to persuade his former girlfriend to give their relationship a second chance. Within weeks they were living together in her Upper East Side brownstone which is where a surprise proposal took place less than a year after their romantic reunion._

_“We had been having conversations about getting married and I was a little reluctant given the difficult experience of my first marriage,” Ms. Covey explained, “we were visiting Montreal in a few weeks so I was sort of expecting he might propose then.” Mr. Kavinsky, however, couldn’t wait that long, “since we got back together, weekend breakfasts have been a really important part of our relationship. With our workloads it can be difficult to carve out time during the week, so having breakfast together to relax and eat and enjoy each other became our ritual.”_

_Although the timing of the proposal was not planned (noted the groom, “it was spontaneous but felt like a perfect moment”) the ring certainly was – it belonged to Eve Song Covey the bride’s late mother. When her father walked her down the aisle to her waiting groom, her mother’s treasured ring was her “something old.” The couple returned to the site of their chance meeting for their honeymoon, staying in a luxurious bungalow at the Four Seasons Biltmore Santa Barbara and enjoyed road trips around Southern California to explore the coast as well as vineyards to add to the extensive wine cellar in their UES apartment (“we live in the city so it’s more of a wine closet” jokes Mr. Kavinsky.)_

_A Manhattan celebration with friends and associates is planned for later in the summer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love doing research for my writing I find it fun to poke around and give my stories real details. Here's a few fun "fic facts" should you care to see what was in my head during this process:
> 
> The inspiration for Lara Jean’s [ wedding dress ](https://www.maggiesottero.com/maggie-sottero/evangelina/10471)
> 
> The Four Seasons Santa Barbara Biltmore is a [ real hotel (that I’ve been to a wedding at and had breakfast overlooking frolicking dolphins!) ](https://www.fourseasons.com/santabarbara/)
> 
> The wedding winery is made up but based on a place like [like this one](https://www.weddingwire.com/biz/lusso-della-terra-san-miguel/21ff2a76edb281d5.html)
> 
> Like all writers I crave feedback! Please share in the comments if you have any and thank you for reading!
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr! Hit up my inbox!](https://queenie-004.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I am thrilled beyond WORDS at your response to this fic! This is such an incredibly lovely and supportive fandom and I appreciate you all so very much and your comments are making me giddy - thank you for reading and sharing your feelings about this story. It means a whole lot to me, I assure you🧡🧡
> 
>  **POSTING SCHEDULE**  
>  Chapter 1-2: Monday Oct 5  
> Chapter 3: Tuesday Oct 6  
> Chapter 4: Wednesday Oct 7  
> Chapter 5: Thursday Oct 8  
> Chapter 6-7: Friday Oct 9  
> Chapter 8-9: Saturday Oct 10  
> Chapter 10: Sunday Oct 11
> 
> Like all writers I crave feedback! Please share in the comments if you have any and thank you for reading!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr! Hit up my inbox!](https://queenie-004.tumblr.com/)


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